


Aftermath

by Latart0903



Series: Strengths and weaknesses [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora on Earth, Conspiracy Theories, Galra on Earth, Love Prevails, M/M, Other, Post-Kerberos Mission, Slow Burn Rebellion, The Garrison is shady, Violence, clone theory, shit goes down on Earth, teamsmolblade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 98,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903/pseuds/Latart0903
Summary: The Kerberos Conspiracy is slowly unraveled by Shiro’s friends from the Galaxy Garrison.





	1. Stand down, cadet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely people!  
> First of all, many, many, many thanks to Avidbeader who has been my beta for these chapters!!! Yay!
> 
> So, I acknowledge that part 2 isn't for everyone, it’s OC heavy but if you enjoyed Medina and the guys from "Strengths & Weaknesses" then you will find part 2 entertaining, here's a rundown of the first few chapters:  
> Chapter 1: Keith doesn't cope well and makes a bad decision before he is expelled. Warning for Keith with another OC :(  
> Chapter 2: Medina returns and learns of the Kerberos tragedy during his debriefing. Also bad at coping, he shows Captain Rivali what he really thinks of him.  
> Chapters 3&4: Moore has taken on the role of deadbeat hacker/guy-crashing-on-couch and checks in on the Garrison from time to time. He comes across the security camera feeds of Shiro's return and assembles the group which is now scattered across the country. Perhaps they can come up with a plan… And perhaps Jules will accidentally or purposefully spill a drink on Rivali’s Doc Martens.
> 
> Keith's mother is a character in the fic but it's not Krolia, I started writing this part way before Season 5.

Keith’s shaking fingers fumbled with his ID card as he wedged it into the space between the door and the frame. Come on… He wiggled the card some more and finally felt it give past the latch bolt so that he could open the door. The clean space, soothing gray tones, and familiar smell of Shiro’s apartment surrounded Keith, offering a temporary solace. He crumpled on the floor in the middle of the living area, hugging himself and letting the tears fall once again.

 

He contemplated taking the sword from the wall but figured Shiro’s cousin, Anna, would probably come by to go through his belongings, most likely while Keith rotted in suspension. Shiro’s family had opted for a more traditional Buddhist ceremony back home but Anna had represented his family at the memorial. The family had felt dishonored by the inadequate investigation and did not go out of their way to partake in the Garrison’s memorial.

 

Keith dried his eyes and grabbed his sterling chopsticks and spoon from the kitchen drawer. He might not use them again but Shiro had bought them for him. Keith gathered a few articles of clothing that he’d forgotten in one of Shiro’s drawers, slowly removing the few tangible traces of their time together. Keith willed himself to refrain from collapsing on the bed; he wasn’t going to let himself cry anymore. He needed to accept that these were the kinds of things that happened to him: the positive forces in his life always abandoned him, sooner or later, and the negative ones always came back.

\-----

“Stand down, cadet!! Third time’s a charm. I will expel you!” Commander Iverson shouted, the blood vessel in his temple protruding further with each heated sentence.

 

“‘Pilot error’ is BS and you fucking know it! There was no fucking crash!! Come clean to the media, you fucking coward!” Keith screamed back, pounding his fist onto the desk, anger and adrenaline coursing through his body.

 

“Goddammit, cadet-” Iverson’s eye twitched as he pulled the expulsion form from his desk drawer.

 

“Do it!” Keith provoked. “Get rid of everyone that knows the truth. Get rid of everyone that challenges you!”

 

Iverson readied his pen as Senior Captain Rivali ran into the room and restrained Keith from behind. “Let me talk to him, sir!” he shouted as he dragged Keith out of Iverson’s office. The heated screaming match had drawn a crowd of faculty that stared as Rivali pulled Keith around the corner.

 

“You need to chill the fuck out, Kogane!” Rivali hissed, eyes wide as he pinned Keith to the wall. “Don’t fuck this up for yourself. Think about the consequences, here.” Keith was fuming, sucking wind, stubbornly meeting Rivali’s stare, and not quite ready to back down. “Come on, let’s take a walk and get some fresh air,” Rivali said, pulling Keith away from the wall by the shoulder.

 

They quietly made their way out of the building and through campus, Rivali letting Keith lead the way. Rivali piped up when they left the central cluster of main buildings and headed towards the student residences, “Ah, don’t you have to get back to class?”

 

“I don’t care,” Keith said as he blankly stared ahead. That tended to be Keith’s response to everything in the past week and a half, that is, if he wasn't screaming and cursing at someone.

 

“OK…” Rivali searched his pockets, uncomfortably distracting himself from their silence. “Um... it’s cool if you need to talk about it. You can’t just blow everything off like this. If they don't get you for discipline issues then they'll get you for your grades.” He located what he was looking for. “You want a cigarette?”

 

Keith would kill for a cigarette right now. He snorted, “Do I have to blow you for it?”

 

Rivali stopped and furrowed his brow. “What?!” he feigned surprise. “I’m a little hurt that you’d say something like that. Clearly we had a misunderstanding…”

 

Motherfucking liar. Keith accepted the cigarette while he shot Rivali his signature death-stare. “Fuck you,” he muttered putting the cigarette to his lips. He stood still and let Rivali into his personal space to light the cigarette. Keith turned to continue walking, letting the smoke prick his lungs. Rivali finished lighting his cigarette and then followed.

 

Keith walked up to his dormitory. He couldn’t quite figure out his reasoning, but he left the main door open, not caring if Rivali followed. “Um, I don’t think you can smoke in there,” Rivali called to Keith while he put out his cigarette before stepping inside the lobby.

 

“It doesn't matter…” Keith answered as he climbed the stairs.

 

Rivali bounded up the stairs after Keith. Standing outside of his dorm room, Keith flicked his cigarette butt down the hallway and watched the last of the embers lose their heat and die out on the cold floor. Rivali actually looked a little worried. “You sure you’re OK? I was serious... If you need to talk about anything…” Whatever. Keith just shook his head and opened his door. Rivali stood in the doorway and continued rambling, “I really think you need to talk to someone, this doesn't seem like a healthy way to deal with this situation. Look, everyone is a little shaken up about Kerberos. I mean, that could’ve been me, you know?”

 

Keith finally bristled at Rivali’s words and allowed his pent-up anger to bubble to the surface once again. “No, that couldn’t have possibly been your outcome. You’re too experienced to let a non-existent crash happen,” he spat.

 

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

 

“‘Pilot error,’ you dense piece of shit! They keep calling it a crash when there’s no evidence of a fucking crash!! But you and Iverson and whoever else is involved in this fucking charade keeps saying it like that's the only possibility!!” Keith’s voice rasped and was back to its desperate shouting volume from 20 minutes earlier. “That's why Erikson quit. He knew it was a lie.”

 

Rivali looked down the hallway and then stepped further into Keith’s room. He quickly closed the door so Keith’s ranting wouldn’t draw attention. “You need to relax.” Rivali attempted to calm Keith once more by holding his shoulders and looking him in the eye.

 

“No!! I need to accept the fact that Shiro was a terrible fucking pilot, according to you and Iverson, and it’s his own damn fault that he's not here!! That’s what you want everyone to think isn't it!!!?” Keith was livid at this point and pounded his fists into Rivali’s chest. “Fuck…” The last of his rage abruptly fizzled out and he let himself collapse into Rivali. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to cry. Keith fought the tears back with his breath.

 

“I’m tired of being pissed off... I want to stop thinking about it,” he mumbled into Rivali’s uniform. Keith straightened his spine to look Rivali in the eye, which was easier to do than with Shiro; Rivali was only an inch or two taller than Keith. He reached up and curled his fingers into the back of Rivali’s neck and then ran one hand up into his hair. Rivali maintained a straight face while Keith dug his nails into his scalp, twisting his fingers to hold the roots of his hair taut. Keith leaned forward, lips hovering just out of reach. He noted how Rivali held his breath. “Make it hurt,” Keith demanded.

 

“What?” Rivali whispered.

 

“Fuck me. And make it hurt,” Keith ordered.

 

“Ah… I don’t. Um. That’s probably not a good idea… You're just upset and...” Rivali’s usually cool and aloof facade faltered.

 

“What the fuck do you care? If you don’t do it, I’m going to find someone else who will,” Keith seethed. He angled his pelvis into Rivali’s.

 

Rivali opened his mouth, attempting to muster another half-assed protest. Keith aggressively kissed the words out of his mouth, banging their teeth together as he tugged Rivali’s neck forward. Rivali wasted no time and kissed back, driving his tongue into Keith’s mouth while Keith backpedaled toward his bed, pulling Rivali on top of him.

 

Keith squirmed in order to quickly strip off his own pants and underwear, only removing what was necessary. He didn’t care about taking time to kiss or slowly undress. But since it was Rivali, he at least needed the man’s shirt off. He wanted to see the tattoo that had always drawn his attention. Unbuttoning and removing the olive drab uniform exposed a scene of intricate roses, Roman deities, and stylized constellations, oceans, and underworlds sprawling his entire left arm. Keith watched the Latin text on Rivali’s bicep distort slightly with each shift of his lean muscle.

 

With Keith's neck exposed, while he distractedly took survey of the mythological stories he recognized, Rivali sucked painful red marks on his pale skin.

 

Keith stared blankly into Proserpina’s detailed eyes as Rivali pried him open.

 

Was this a terrible idea? Yes.  
Was Rivali finally getting his way? Perhaps.  
Was Rivali a means to an end? Sort of. Just like the boy yesterday and possibly a different person tomorrow.  
Would Rivali care that he was merely one in a string of desperate distractions? Maybe.

 

Keith felt a momentary twinge of remorse. Was he betraying Shiro? Yes.  
But was Shiro here anymore? No… and quite frankly, neither was Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me but… I had to do it. Sorry... *hides in corner*
> 
> On a side note, the rape of Proserpina/Persephone was always my favorite myth of how she was kidnapped by Pluto/Hades resulting in the changing seasons. Cold and dark while she was in the underworld for Winter and life/rebirth when she returned to earth each Spring.
> 
> Again, thank you avidbeader for putting up with my crappy typos.


	2. That's from Shiro

The Mars Lab maintenance crew disembarked their ship after a safe and uneventful landing at the Galaxy Garrison’s mission control outpost. The pilot, Lieutenant Danilo Medina (recently promoted from Sergeant), was off the ship first and made his seven crewmembers laugh as he kneeled down to kiss the dusty tarmac.

 

Once inside the mission control compound, the crew split up into individual rooms while their vitals were checked. Medina was cleared and permitted to proceed to his locker. He changed into his gray joggers and a white tee before pulling on his officers’ dog tags, a hoodie, and a navy Yankees hat. He dug his mobile out from his standard issue duffel; the phone was obviously in need of a charge after lying in disuse for six months. “Debriefing in fifteen” a mission control supervisor called out into the locker room.

 

A nurse summoned Medina and he entered another small room for his post-mission blood draw. “Do you mind if I give this a quick charge?” Medina asked the middle-aged woman, holding up his dead cell phone.

 

“I guess that's OK. I just can't let you look at it until after the debriefing, though.”

 

“Yeah, no problem. Thank you,” he said, handing over the charger to be plugged in next to the woman's computer. He eyed an office phone on the desk as the nurse set out the collection vials and a rubber tourniquet. “Do you know Sergeant Moore’s extension?”

 

“He doesn’t work here any- I mean… You have to wait for debriefing,” she corrected herself but it was too late.

 

“Doesn’t work here? Wes Moore quit the Garrison?!” Medina sputtered.

 

“No... I mean. I can't... You need to wait for debriefing.”

 

Medina looked around the room.  _ What the hell? _ Maybe she was confusing Moore with another officer.  _ It's a common name, right? _ He thought he'd try his luck again. “What about Lieutenant Erikson’s extension? I just want to let one of my friends know that I landed.”

 

The nurse met his eyes nervously. “I… I can't… You have to wait…”

 

They had never been this strict with debriefing in the past. “What's the deal?”

 

“I'm sorry, Lieutenant.” Her chin quivered. “I’m  _ very _ sorry, but you have to wait.” She collected three vials of blood from Medina and excused herself as a younger woman entered the room.

 

“Good morning. I’m Candace, I'm from the emergency and disaster recovery department. Welcome back, Lieutenant Medina,” she said, shaking his hand.

 

“Emergency and disaster recovery? What's going on?” Medina was starting to feel on edge.  _ What happened? _

 

“Yes. I'll get to that in a minute. We’re conducting individual debriefing given the... sensitive nature of some of the information.” She handed over a tablet. “This is an update of all the major U.S. and world news events that happened while you were away. It’s been emailed to your account, you can read it in your own time, the Garrison just requires an e-signature by the time you report back to work on Monday. The report also includes progress on other current Garrison initiatives… The reason I’m here is to inform you of some... unfortunate complications that occurred on Kerberos… I understand you were close with Captain Takashi Shirogane.”

 

_ What's with the past tense? _ “Um yes, I was. I am... What happened? What kind of complications?” Medina questioned.

 

She pulled up a chair in front of Medina and placed her hand over his. “There was a crash and all three members of the crew were killed. A memorial was held back in May... I'm so sorry for your loss,” she said, squeezing his hand.

 

_ What. The. Fuck. _ Medina shook his head. “Wait... What?”

 

“The Garrison has evaluated all of the evidence available. A public link to the Garrison’s ongoing investigation is included in the information I’ve emailed you. A newly constructed memorial garden is located behind the public planetarium if you'd like to visit.”

 

Medina’s mouth just hung open. “So... Shiro died on Kerberos?”

 

“Yes, Lieutenant. I'm very sorry. What questions do you have for me?”

 

“Um, I think I just need a minute… I don't know…” Medina was in shock and couldn’t fully process the information. He felt completely detached, as if he were looking at himself from across the room.  _ Shouldn’t I be crying? Why do I feel so… numb? _

 

“I understand. This is a perfectly normal reaction.” She pulled out a business card. “I'll give you some time to think. You're free to return home, if you wish. My emergency pager is on this card if you think of something you'd like to discuss. Again, my condolences.” She stood and walked toward the door.

 

“Um… What about my friends?” Medina finally was able to return to his body to speak. “I uh, heard that one of my friends left the Garrison? Is it... related? To the Kerberos mission?”

 

Candace pulled up a directory on her tablet. “Which officer in particular?”

 

“Moore… Uh, Sergeant Wesley Moore?”

 

“He’s lucky he wasn’t arrested. He was dishonorably discharged for hacking Garrison emails for confidential information and classified video feeds,” Candace said matter-of-factly.

 

Medina’s eyes widened. “What? Seriously? He… he wouldn’t even cross an empty street unless he had the crosswalk signal.” Medina ran his hand through his hair.  _ Que mierda... _ “What about Lieutenant Erikson?”

 

“He resigned.”

 

_ OK _ … “Press secretary was his dream job. He worked so hard to get that position…” Medina muttered to himself. “I’m afraid to ask but… Lieutenant Elliot Woolf?”

 

“Also resigned. I heard he accepted an offer elsewhere.”

 

“Uh… OK. Thanks. I guess...”

 

Candace turned to walk out. “Please, don’t hesitate to call or page me. You can stay here as long as you want, I’ll be outside. A shuttle back to the Garrison main compound will be departing in about ten minutes if you’d like to go home.”

 

Medina walked into the daylight in a stupefied daze to wait for the shuttle van. He called his mother in Queens to let her know he was safe on the ground. On the ride back in the van, he called his father in Tucson before trying Moore’s cell. There was no answer.

 

Standing outside of his car in a faculty lot, his phone rang, but it was Nadia.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey, baby. I wasn’t sure if you were back yet,” her voice filled the receiver. A child could be heard playing in the background.

 

“Yeah, just getting back to my car.”

 

Her voice sounded hesitant. “Did… did you hear the news? About your friend?”

 

Medina pinched the bridge of his nose hard and took a deep breath. “Yeah…” he exhaled.

 

She sounded like she’d started crying. “I’m so sorry, baby. I know I didn’t know him that well, but… he seemed like a great guy. You OK?”

 

“Uh… I just feel really weird. Like… it isn’t real,” Medina managed. That was the best way to phrase what was going on with his fucked-up head right now. “How’s Shawn doing?”

 

“He’s good. Starting preschool in a few weeks. He’s been asking for you.”

 

Medina’s heart warmed. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, he brought the space shuttle you gave him to daycare and told everyone that ‘Mommy’s friend’ was on Mars,” she chuckled.

 

Life suddenly seemed short. Really, really short. Almost suffocating. Or imploding. Or caving in on him. He should settle down. He should be a father to Nadia’s little boy. He should stop fucking around with his life. And hers…  _ How much do engagement rings cost? _ “Can, uh, ‘Mommy’s friend’ come over later? Before Shawn goes to bed?” Medina winced. Usually he came by later. Much, much later.

 

“Um, yeah, sure,” Nadia said with surprise. “I was just going to order pizza for dinner, though. Is that OK? I know how picky you are with pizza…”

 

“After eating freeze-dried peas and rehydrated hamburger for six months, I’ll eat any kind of pizza,” Medina laughed.  _ Why am I laughing? _

 

“OK, sounds good. See you later, then. Glad you’re safe,” she said, sounding like she was smiling. The call ended.

 

Medina started his car. Maybe his emotions would start functioning properly once he was in the comfort of his own home. He pulled onto the street that circled the outskirts of the Garrison compound. He drove past the student dorms getting ready to pull onto the state route.  _ I wonder how Keith is… Oh shit!! Keith! _

 

Without thinking, he made a left into the student lot and ran to the dorms. Keith’s building was easy to remember because it was the very first building on the corner of the maze of dormitories. He scrolled through the directory in the lobby.  _ Keith… Keith… What the fuck is his last name?? Lee? Kim? Is it racist to assume that?  _ He adjusted a column on the directory touchscreen to alphabetize by first name. The only Keith in this building was a Keith Ramirez. Medina snorted in amusement. Keith was a mix of some sort, but he definitely didn't look like a Ramirez.  _ Shit, there’s no other Keiths. Is this the right building? _

 

Medina desperately wanted to go home to shower and eat real food… but he couldn't let himself leave without knowing if Keith was OK. The news of Shiro’s death must have been devastating. He decided to head into the office quickly to pull up the student directory on the intranet. Medina vaguely acknowledged his odd sense of false hope.

 

Medina tried Moore’s number again as he ran over to the aviation building. There was still no answer and Erikson's number was disconnected.

 

Medina thanked the god he didn't believe in for the fact that he didn't have to walk by Shiro’s empty desk to get to his own. His coworkers stared in disbelief as he passed them. He casually waved. He knew what they were thinking and ignored their looks of shock and pity.

 

He sorted the enormous student directory by first name on his desktop. Again, only Keith Ramirez showed up. Had Keith really left, too? Without finishing flight school?

 

What about Celine? Maybe he could try emailing her later. He located her name.  _ Celine Breton. Got it. _

 

“Welcome back, Sergeant...” Medina heard a familiar voice that he knew and hated.

 

Medina looked up.  _ Yep, Eurotrash at two o'clock,  _ he thought. “It’s Lieutenant, now.  What do you want, ravioli?”

 

“Right, I forgot.” Rivali circled around to see what Medina so urgently needed to look up immediately upon completion of his mission. “Who ya lookin’ for?”

 

“No one.” Medina closed the tab and swiveled his chair to look at Rivali. “I see you still haven't cut your hair. Goin’ for the homeless look?” Even in his detached state of mind, he still had some insults up his sleeve for Rivali.

 

Rivali grunted, “Whatever. Girls dig it.”

 

Medina had to go there: “What about little boys? They like it?”

 

Rivali sneered, “Kogane was eighteen. He was a fully consenting adult…”

 

_ Kogane! That was his last name. Wait... Consenting? _ “What do you mean?”

 

“I got my way before he was expelled, he practically begged for it,” Rivali bragged.

 

“Expelled?”

 

“Yeah, he wasn't coping with Shiro's death all too well.”

 

“You fucking scumbag,” Medina growled as he slowly rose, not fully in control of his body.

 

Rivali held up his hands in mock-defense, “He initiated. I just did what was asked of me.” His gloating smile was sickening. “Anyway, welcome back,  _ Lieutenant _ .” Rivali held out his hand to shake Medina’s.

 

Medina heard Rivali’s nose crunch on his knee cap before he realized what he was doing. He'd taken Rivali’s hand, yanked him down into his knee and let him drop to the floor before climbing on top of him to throw a punch. He was pulled off of the senior officer by security as he wound up for a second blow.

 

Now the tears came. Medina finally let go. Suddenly, everything felt disturbingly real.

 

Rivali scrambled to his feet, holding his nose, blood dripping down his face. Two security officers wrestled Medina towards the elevator. Medina was blinded by pure anger as he shouted across the room, “That's from Shiro, you mother fucker!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said in the past, the names I use are kind of random and what I think sounds good so if there's a likeness to you or someone you know, it's a coincidence and I can change it if it bothers you.
> 
> And I don’t encourage solving problems with sex or violence, I apparently just needed to get some more negative drama out of my system before moving on to more positive chapters. Rest assured, I’m done torturing Keith for now.
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader, Avidbeader


	3. This is bigger than us: Part 1

Lillian exited her bedroom, as usual on weekdays, at 8:30am. Moore continued plugging away on his laptop from the couch. He watched her scowl in his direction out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Wes… It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?” She stood with her hands on her hips. A breeze from the Hudson River blew into the open window of the Jersey City apartment.

 

 _Early for… Oh._ Moore pulled the vaporizer from his lips and exhaled. “Well, I worked all night so it’s kind of like the evening for me…” he replied, looking back at her. He watched her sigh as she glared at the dishes in the sink. “I’ll do the dishes later. I promise. Oh, and my rent from the past two months is on the table. Plus a little extra for utilities and stuff.”

 

She looked at the stack of cash on the small kitchen table. “How did… Ugh, I don’t want to know... Wes, I thought you were going to get your helicopter license and apply to the NYPD aviation unit. You should probably quit smoking weed. I’d assume that they’d require a drug test… And not engaging in illegal activity as a full-time job might not be a bad idea either…”

 

“Yeah, eventually. This, uh... pays well... for now,” he answered, choosing not to elaborate.

 

Lillian collected her things to leave for work as her fiancé, Raj, walked out of their bedroom. “Morning!” he greeted enthusiastically. Lillian grunted her acknowledgement; Moore waved from the couch.

 

“Wes, do you receive news notifications from Nerd-net?!” Raj was always in a good mood but he was especially excited this morning.

 

“Oh, right… I’ve been meaning to subscribe. Your friend runs it, right?” Moore replied.

 

“Well, yeah but… Did you hear anything about the Galaxy Garrison overnight? My friend’s source said that they issued a ‘security situation Z-9’ code last night but there’s no list of ‘Z’ codes available to the public online. There’s also rumors that there were a bunch of explosions near the Garrison, some rumors of a meteor or bright light in the sky, and now there’s three cadets missing. The Garrison is trying to keep it quiet but… Do you know or remember what a Z-9 emergency code is?”

 

Moore closed his eyes to concentrate. “Zulu-Niner… let me think. All Z codes are severe emergency codes and mean that all cadets are to remain indoors. Only personnel trained for the specific emergency code are to respond. Um… OK, Z-1 is a weather-related natural disaster, Z-2 is a geologically-related natural disaster, Z-3 is an airstrike or other threat by air, Z-4 is a threat by land, Z-5 is a nuclear or high altitude EMP threat, Z-6 is a non-nuclear bomb or similar threat, Z-7 is a chemical threat, Z-8 is a biological threat…” Moore rattled off what he could remember from Garrison basic training. Z-9, Z-9… Moore’s eyes opened as it came to him. “Z-9 is a presumed extraterrestrial threat or other unexplained event...” He and Raj looked at each other.

 

“Extraterrestrial threat?! Could it be a UFO? Seriously? Do you think it could’ve been aliens?!” Raj cried.

 

“I mean, I’d need to see the footage…” Moore started. _It has been a while since I’ve checked in on the Garrison…_

 

“Wes! You need to see if you can find video!! There _has_ to be a security camera feed somewhere!” Raj was jumping up and down at this point. “This is _so_ exciting!”

 

Lillian rolled her eyes. “OK, boys? E.T. can’t make me late for work. Raj, I’m leaving. Are you riding the train with me or not?”

 

“Yeah...” Raj’s excitement deflated as he picked up his messenger bag and threw on a blazer. “Wes, let me know if you find anything.”

 

“Yeah, OK,” Moore responded, a bit distracted as the apartment door closed. _Where to even start?_ He tossed the vaporizer aside as he thought, not noticing it clanging on the floor when it rolled off the couch. The Garrison could store sensitive footage on a server with higher security than he was accustomed to hacking. He’d need a lot of help or a ton of time to get through that kind of security. But still, any basic black-and-white security camera on Garrison premises, that he knew of, would at least have some sort of internal storage that he could easily access.

 

He pulled up Vim and began poking around the usual email accounts and found nothing regarding the events from last night. Either this Z-9 situation was a rumor or the Garrison knew not to put anything in writing... _Or have they deleted the evidence already?_ He then searched for various security camera feeds: Garrison central compound, the various mission control outposts… _Oh. What about the quarantine outpost?_ They hardly used that outpost since the Garrison had installed quarantine chambers at mission control. _But if there’s an actual extraterrestrial threat, they’d have to quarantine it first. Right?_

 

Moore located some promising security cameras in the vicinity of the quarantine compound and ran a basic password cracker for each grouping of cameras. He sorted files by time and scanned for relevant content. Finally, he found a shot with explosions in the distance and watched as Garrison vehicles raced towards the unknown threat. Another camera feed showed a distorted but stationary image of a strange looking space pod. _What the hell is that? This is crazy. I wish I knew which cameras were inside the quarantine compound._

 

In his head, Moore ran through the assigned numbering system that the security team used for observational equipment. He set up another password cracker to guess the probable serial numbers of any other cameras in that outpost. He tried three promising numbers only to be blocked by an extra layer of security that he didn’t have the patience to work around. _They’re definitely hiding something._ Moore then paused. _If I find something, what am I actually going to do with this information? Hold it for ransom? Leak it to other government agencies? Other countries?_ Moore decided that it would depend on what he found.

 

He tried a few more numbers that did not match up to any security feeds in the quarantine compound. He tried another number and held his breath as a static-filled video feed of the quarantine compound interior presented itself on his screen with audible voices in the background. _Hello..._

 

Voice 1: “How did he get away?”

 

Med tech: “There were four of them! Cadets, I think. One of them took out Commander Iverson and the other med tech, sir! He hit me from behind, I didn’t see much.”

 

Voice 1: “This is a major breach of security. If we don’t find them, Adisa will have our heads…”

 

 _Iverson?! OK… rewind._ Moore moved the feed back by five minutes.

 

Voice 2: “You have to listen to me! They destroy worlds!”

 

Moore’s heart stopped as he listened.

 

Voice 2: “Aliens are coming!”

 

He paused the video and stared at the screen. It was hard to tell which figure was speaking and if the restrained figure resembled his friend... But the voice was unmistakeable. _Shiro._

 

“Oh my god!” Moore exclaimed as he stood up, knocking his laptop on the floor. No one was around to see his outburst. Or this video. He sat back down. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ He grabbed the computer and played more video. The rest of the voices became garbled and then the med techs started flying as another figure entered the frame, throwing punches left and right.

 

Moore rewound the video further and caught the beginning of the conversation.

 

Voice 2: “Hey, what are you doing?"

 

Iverson: “Calm down, Shiro, we just need to keep you quarantined-”

 

Moore dropped his laptop again as he fumbled for his cell phone.

 

\-----

 

“Mr. Hwang, I assure you, our team has implemented the most cutting-edge technology in designing your fleet. The numbers add up, our physicists and engineers have all weighed in, but without a monetary commitment on your end, we are unable to provide you with an actual simulation at this time.” The head of sales spoke up to rescue her sales assistant who had, thus far, inadequately answered their client’s brutal questions. Elliot Woolf sat back with the rest of the team and was grateful not to be in the hotseat.

 

“Ms. Greene, I’m sure the software is very impressive and mathematically correct and I’m sure that it _functions_. I want to know if it _works_ … And if it works with the new fleet. And if it works for my _pilots_. Engineers don’t know how to actually fly. Physicists don’t know how to actually fly. Does anyone on your team involved in the designing of this software know what it’s like to physically fly an aircraft?” Mr. Hwang shot back.

 

Ms. Greene looked back at her team desperately. “Sir, we test the software extensively in a variety of mathematical scenarios-”

 

Woolf finally spoke up. “Mr. Hwang, if I may… as a team member in developing this customized software, the scenarios we test are thorough and extensive. You have the best of the best working on this product and I know you’re familiar with our company’s integrity. But, speaking to you as a pilot, I’d trust my life with this software.”

 

Now Mr. Hwang was finally intrigued. “Really? _You’re_ a pilot? I flew for Cathay Pacific for thirty years before I started my company. Who have you worked for?”

 

Woolf maintained his polite smile. “I was a pilot for the Galaxy Garrison, sir. Fighter-class.”

 

“Interesting. And what kind of experience do you have? You look pretty young…”

 

“I’ve been to the moon twice. And Mars once. And I’m telling you, as one pilot to another, I trust this software.”

 

“Well, then…” Mr. Hwang was clearly taken off-guard. “All right... I’m convinced. Ms. Greene, I’ll sign your contract as long as you can guarantee that I’ll have a prototype in an actual flight simulator in two months...”

 

“Wonderful, sir. Yes, we can do that.” Ms. Greene sounded relieved.

 

“Send the paperwork to my assistant. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for another meeting,” Mr. Hwang said as he stood. His small team followed him out.

 

Ms. Greene collapsed into her seat with a sigh of relief. She turned to her team, “Good work, guys. We’re taking the rest of the day off and going to the tavern. First round is on me. Elliot, you’re a lifesaver.” The team slowly gathered the presentation supplies, high-fiving Woolf on the way out of the boardroom.

 

Woolf made his way to his cubicle and checked his emails that had accumulated throughout the day; he’d been in the boardroom most of the morning preparing for this meeting. He loosened his tie as he glanced at his cell phone. There were two missed calls: one from Moore and one from Medina. And multiple text messages from both of them. _What the hell? I haven’t heard from either of them in months..._

 

The sales assistant, Joel, and the lead mathematician, Gretchen, stopped by Woolf’s desk before he could read his texts. “Woolf!! Seriously, man, you saved my ass,” Joel said. “Actually, Greene probably needs to fire me and steal you from product development.”

 

"Just doing my job. Don’t mention it,” Woolf said.

 

“Well, thanks again. I owe you one. See you at the tavern.” Joel took off, leaving Gretchen.

 

“Are you not coming?” Gretchen asked.

 

“Uh…” Woolf looked at his phone. “I’ve got a few missed calls from some friends I haven’t talked to in a while. Looks like something important. I might catch up with you guys later.”

 

“OK… Remember, you still owe me a drink from when I kicked your butt in pool two weeks ago,” Gretchen said, smiling. “I’m going to start charging interest.”

 

Woolf smiled back. “I should’ve known better than to challenge a mathematician at billiards. Tell you what, if I can’t make it out for drinks today, then I owe you dinner next Friday night,” he confidently flirted.

 

“Oh. Um…” Gretchen smiled and looked down at the ground, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. “OK. Sounds like a plan.”

 

“OK. Have a good weekend if I don’t see you tonight,” Woolf replied. He smiled as she walked off and then looked back down at his phone to open the first text message.

 

Moore: Call me ASAP.

 

\-----

 

Erikson took his last deep breath of salty sea air before turning to walk back up the beach. He pulled the surfboard leash off his ankle and carried the board a few blocks through the quiet side streets of Redondo Beach. This was honestly the perfect way to start the morning. Why had no one told him that surfing could be so therapeutic?

 

He peeled off the top half of his wetsuit and propped the surfboard up on the porch before entering the house. Jules peeked his head above his laptop at a round table as Erikson walked into the kitchen. “What’s up, surfer dude?” he greeted facetiously.

 

“Morning,” Erikson replied casually as he searched the fridge for something to eat. “How are the numbers looking?”

 

Jules groaned, “I think the research assistant made a mistake. I need to go back through all the data myself. Blows…”

 

“Have him redo it.”

 

“He’s just an intern; you know UCLA isn’t paying him shit to work for the department. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about my dissertation. I’d rather do it myself anyway.” Jules looked up and watched Erikson go through the fridge, holding an apple with his teeth. “There are still some lumpias in there from the other day.”

 

“Yes!!” Erikson celebrated.

 

Jules laughed. “I need to record your reaction to my cooking so that my parents can be proud of me for once.” Erikson pulled the leftovers out and stood at the counter to eat, listening as Jules continued. “I need to head to campus for a bit to meet with my advisor. And um… I might bring a guy over tonight…”

 

Erikson picked up on his not-so-subtle hint. “You need me out of here?”

 

“Well, you know, just out of sight... I think they get confused when they meet you. It’s kind of like, ‘oh, potential boyfriend, meet my temporary roommate... with benefits. Don’t worry, he’s cool. He’s just trying to find himself…’”

 

Erikson chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “‘Benefits’ as in the trust fund ‘benefits’ that paid your rent last month?”

 

Jules huffed, “The... _other_ ‘benefits’…” Erikson watched Jules’ face flush a bit.

 

“Are you blushing?” he teased, as he circled the table and walked up behind Jules.

 

Jules waved his hand to dismiss the accusation. “I’m too brown to blush. Will you _please_ put some clothes on? You’re dripping on me! And your hands are cold!”

 

Erikson smirked, considering stripping off the entire wetsuit until he recognized the oversized and recently mutilated T-shirt Jules was wearing. “Is that my shirt?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“You cut an enormous heart out of the back of my T-shirt?!”

 

“You said I looked cute in your shirts!” Jules defended himself.

 

“Yeah but…” Erikson was still confused by this boy; extremely confused but utterly intrigued. “That doesn’t mean you can just cut it up!”

 

“Whatever, it’s better like this. Please go put clothing on… Oh, and your phone rang a few times while you were out.”

 

Erikson walked over to his phone charging at one of the kitchen counter outlets. _Moore?! Huh…_

 

He ran upstairs to shower and change. As he walked out the front door to return Moore’s call, he ignored Jules’ snarky comment. “On second thought, I’ve decided to stop stealing your T-shirts so that you’ll stop wearing that hideous polo shirt! This isn't the goddamn country club.”

 

Erikson laughed to himself while he stood on the porch, waiting for Moore to pick up.

 

“Erikson!!!” Moore screamed over the phone.

 

“Hey! What’s up man? Long time no-”

 

“It’s Shiro!!! It’s fucking Shiro!!! He’s alive!” Moore interrupted.

 

Erikson stilled and went cold. “Wha… What? How… How can you say that? What are you talking about?”

 

Moore rambled a mile-a-minute, “The Garrison issued a situation Z-9 emergency code last night. I hacked one of the low-res cameras in the quarantine outpost. It’s shitty video quality, but there’s a small alien ship and I swear to you on Shiro’s premature grave… It’s Shiro’s voice. Iverson’s also in the shot and even calls him by name. He’s ranting about aliens and shit. I already booked a flight to Phoenix. I’m waiting to hear from Woolf. I think if we can all put our heads together we can figure out what the fuck is going on. I need to get the codes on the better cameras in that quarantine chamber. And I think I can get more information if we’re able plant a USB with a Trojan horse in one of the more secure servers, so I can build a short range-”

 

Erikson interrupted. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. OK… you’re still hacking the Garrison? And Shiro is alive and on a video that you found from last night? And he’s ranting about aliens?” _Am I awake right now?_

 

“Yeah and if I’m onsite I think it’ll be easier to get more information… You gotta come to Arizona, man! Medina is still working there. We’ve got Medina on the inside! Let’s pull the plug on the Garrison! Fuck the Garrison!”

 

Erikson looked around in shock, unsure of what to make of the information Moore had just shouted into his brain. He looked towards the front door and Jules was standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open. “Um… I guess I can hop in my car and be there this evening. I don’t know anything about hacking shit though...”

 

“Just get your ass to Medina’s house. I’ll see you tonight.” Moore ended the call. Erikson stared at his phone in shock. _What the hell is going on?!_ “I guess I’m driving to Arizona…”

 

“I’m coming with you,” Jules declared.

 

\-----

 

That evening, Erikson sat alone on a lawn chair in Medina’s backyard with tears streaming down his face. He and Jules had picked up Woolf at the airport and arrived at Medina’s house earlier that night. After catching up and ordering take-out for dinner, Moore had played back the video footage for the group.

 

“This is fucking… insane,” Woolf said as he stepped outside and approached Erikson.

 

“I feel like…” Erikson started, searching for words. “I’ve been living in this dream world. Like, I couldn’t cope with his death so I just ran away from my problems when really… I gave up. I gave up on him.”

 

“You didn’t give up. No one gave up…” Woolf offered.

 

“Why didn’t I question it more? I took the Garrison’s claim for face-value when I didn’t believe any of their _other_ claims. What the fuck is wrong with me?! I should have pushed harder for an investigation.”

 

“Erikson, he obviously wasn’t on Kerberos. Even if you’d managed to convince the Garrison to _immediately_ launch probes… they wouldn’t have found anything anyway. This isn’t anyone’s fault.”

 

Erikson nodded with slight relief. Woolf was always so level-headed. He wiped the tears away and looked up. “Do you think… he was abducted?”

 

“I don’t know what to make of all this but, yeah… It would appear that’s the most ‘logical’ explanation at this point…” Woolf chuckled. “I have a feeling that whatever I define as logical is going to be turned on its head in the next few days... Come back inside, man. Moore is hurting my brain with all his computer-talk. And Medina just... hurts my brain in general.”

 

Erikson snorted. “I can’t believe Nadia said yes. Of the five of of us, Medina’s gonna be the first one getting married? What the fuck is _that_ shit? I always thought you or Shiro would be the first to go…”

 

“See? Logic... Crumbling… Aliens exist and there is a woman out there that is willing to commit to spending the rest of her life with Dani Medina… What has the universe come to?” Woolf laughed.

 

Erikson and Woolf walked back into the house and listened to Moore and Medina cobbling a plan together at the kitchen table. Jules typed away on his laptop in the living room.

 

“OK,” Moore began. “I want better video and sound so we have a clearer idea of what actually happened. Shiro’s back but it doesn’t look like he’s in Garrison custody based on the video I have. It’s going to take a while for me to crack the the higher security servers, but I don’t want to waste time if there’s more information on the standard servers. The more time we take, the more time the Garrison has to cover this shit up.” He handed a USB flash drive to Medina. “This carries a program that will give us better remote access. Do you think you can get this plugged into the servers without anyone noticing?” Woolf and Erikson laughed. How could Medina ever go unnoticed?

 

“Fuck you guys! I can plant this shit, I’m tight with the I.T. people.”

 

“Medina, they can’t know the details. We don’t know who we can trust right now. I’ll be able to interfere with security cameras so you’re not seen going near the server room but we need a convincing story to get you in,” Moore said. Erikson had never seen the guy so intense.

 

Medina thought for a minute. “OK, I have an idea. I’ll go into the office tomorrow and say I’m catching up on some work. It’ll be quiet since it’s Saturday. Can you put some weird ‘server connectivity error’ message on my computer so that I’ll have to call I.T.?”

 

Moore nodded, “Yeah, that’s simple enough.”

 

“They’ll come by and won’t be able to figure it out because everything’s working, so maybe they’ll have to check the server towers. And I’ll just be like, ‘hey, I’ve never seen the server room, can I see it while you check out the issue?’ I’m seriously cool with all the computer guys; we play poker every Thursday night. It won’t be suspicious at all. I’m 100 percent positive.”

 

Moore looked at the others; Woolf and Erikson shrugged. “OK, I guess that’s as good as we can get right now. If they sound even a _little_ suspicious or say no then drop it immediately. _Don’t_ push it. You sure you’re cool with doing this?”

 

Medina didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Let’s do this. Fuck the Garrison.”

 

Moore smiled. “We also need to scout the quarantine compound, preferably tonight, to find out how many other cameras are there and maybe even get a serial number so that it’s easier to look them up on the server.”

 

“The problem is that they’d recognize any of us…” Erikson said.

 

“I’ll do it!” Jules piped up from the living room. He walked into the kitchen and smiled. “I’m good at playing ‘oblivious civilian.’”

 

Erikson stood up. “Ah… I don’t think so.”

 

“I’m the only one that didn’t work at the Garrison, right? You have no other options…”

 

“It’s not safe. I’ll come with you,” Erikson mandated.

 

“You’re an idiot. You just said all of you would be recognized, no?! I’m going. Alone. Give me your keys or I’ll fish them out of your pants while you’re sleeping because you always leave them in your pants pocket and then you can’t find them the next day and you’re always asking me where the hell they are… Sorry. Tangent... Give me your keys.” Jules ended his rambling. The guys all looked at Erikson, eyebrows raised. Erikson pulled the keys to his rusted BMW out of his pocket, avoiding their questioning looks.

 

Moore quickly drew a map on a sheet of paper while he provided instructions. “OK, Julian, don’t go in if there’s any security stationed outside the middle structure, that’s the quarantine building. I’ll figure a way in later if it’s heavily guarded. I’m assuming they’ll all be guarding the alien ship and that the quarantine building will be empty. If you manage to sneak in, try to take a few pictures of any video cameras you see.” From out of his backpack, Moore fished a cell phone zoom lens attachment for Jules to use.

 

Jules snatched Erikson’s keys and winked at him as he walked out the door. “Later boys…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 will be posted in the next day or so
> 
> thanks again to avidbeader, my beta, so that you all don't have to put up with my bad punctuation and grammar ;)


	4. This is bigger than us: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now for part 2
> 
> All the dialogue I've quoted from season 1, episode 1 is (obviously) not mine.

The boys crowded around Moore’s laptop the next day. Moore’s foot nervously bounced while he tested every combination of numbers for the last two illegible serial number digits to the high-res camera set up in the quarantine compound. Jules had managed to snap pictures of the cameras before being escorted off the premises; of course, not without a theatrical performance on Jules’ part.  On a second laptop, Moore accessed the Garrison servers via the USB drive Medina had successfully placed earlier that morning. 

 

Twenty minutes later, Moore identified files from one of the quarantine compound cameras. He took a deep breath before opening the file that corresponded with the approximate time that Shiro had arrived back on Earth.

 

Shiro: “Hey, what are you doing?

 

Iverson: “Calm down, Shiro...” 

 

Moore felt Medina squeeze him from behind before he screamed in his ear. “Oh shit!!! That’s Shiro, that’s fucking… is that his arm?! What the fuck happened to his arm?”

 

“Medina, you’re crushing me!” Moore complained before he paused the video to zoom in. The air around him became incredibly still while they focused on the slightly pixelated image.

 

“What the fuck?” Erikson exhaled.

 

Moore attempted to decipher what he saw. “It’s… It’s a prosthesis. He has a… It’s like a robotic arm…”

 

“What’s up with his hair?!” Medina interjected again.

 

“He had a few grays but not…” Woolf’s reasoning stalled. “I- I don’t know.”

 

Moore resumed the video.

 

Iverson: “Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”

 

Shiro: “I don’t know. Months?! Years?! Look, there’s-”

 

Moore paused the video and Medina piped up again, “Why did you pause it?! Stop pausing it!”

 

Moore shook his head and fought back the tears. “He doesn’t know how long he’s been gone…” he whispered.

 

“Well, it’s not like he can say, ‘hey, let me refer to my flight log and I’ll get back to you’...” Medina reasoned with a sarcastic tone.

 

“Kind of a big difference between  _ months _ and  _ YEARS _ , Medina!” Moore shouted, voice quivering.

 

“So, he’s a little... out of it… I don’t know why you’re getting worked up,” Medina snapped.

 

Woolf hesitantly chimed in, “We’re… assuming he was abducted… right? So he was likely a prisoner. Maybe… tortured? Makes sense if he has no idea how long he’s been gone.”

 

The group sat and absorbed Woolf’s statement in sobering silence.

 

“Fuck,” Medina cursed as he turned to pace the room before returning his attention back to the laptop.

 

“Is that line on his face a shadow or a scar?” Erikson questioned. Moore rewound a bit and they watched the line remain as Shiro thrashed his head. “He’s got a massive scar across his face,” Erikson noted. “What the fuck happened to him?”

 

They watched as the rest of the encounter played out and suddenly med techs were thrown about. They watched the figure from the earlier low-res video enter the frame to free Shiro. The figure pulled his mask down and Moore paused to zoom in again.

 

“It’s Keith!!!” Medina squeezed Moore again. “Holy shit! It’s Keith!”

 

“Ow! Medina!! Jesus,” Moore cursed.

 

Erikson laughed. Not at Medina’s antics, but in admiration of the scene before his eyes. “Oh my god… Keith!! Love prevails,” he announced.

 

They watched as the three missing cadets escaped with Keith and Shiro. The quarantine compound interior was still for a minute until Garrison officers arrived at the scene. Moore ended the video and downloaded it to a removable hard drive.

 

They sat in silence until Moore finally broke it. “We… have to decide… what we are going to do with this evidence. Based on some more information I dug up last night, there was another sighting yesterday morning. There’s some weird shit, describing it looking like a blue cat-thing… I don’t know, but regardless, another ship was spotted near here and it left the atmosphere. I have a feeling that Shiro’s not on Earth still…”

 

“I don’t think we can tell the Garrison we have this,” Erikson started. “They’ll just silence us. But if we present this information to other agencies or… other countries expecting them to intervene… We’re just starting a war…”

 

Moore looked at Erikson. “This is why we need you, man. You know the media, and the public, and the politics. What do we do?”

 

“It’ll be chaos but… We leak it to the public. And maybe it’ll eventually force the Garrison to address what they know about the Kerberos mission and extraterrestrial life… I mean, what Shiro is describing is a serious threat. And, apparently, an imminent threat. It’s a matter of national-or global-security. The Garrison is withholding critical information. And maybe the government will intervene, or at least investigate, if there’s enough pressure from the general public.”

 

“On top of that,” Moore added as he glanced at his other laptop, “There are thousands of these files of alien radio chatter logged by the Garrison that I’m finding on the server. People need to know about this. Something huge is happening out there…”

 

Woolf spoke up, “Um… do you think we could communicate with the ship that left Earth yesterday? You know, if Shiro is on it... and Keith... Can we send a message?”

 

Moore’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “We’d need to build one hell of a satellite... But yeah, it’s technically possible.” Moore looked at the laptop that was accessing the Garrison servers. “We’re going to need to rotate the location of the USB in the server towers so no one catches on. Medina can’t be the only one sneaking in while I try forging an admin security ID card. We’re going to need another person on the inside. And if we’re building a satellite we’re going to need more equipment. Who else can we trust?”

 

\-----

 

Celine sat in her dorm room, refreshing the news feeds on her phone. Each media outlet had different takes on the three missing cadets, placing the Garrison under public scrutiny once again. And putting the student body on edge. She didn’t have much longer until she graduated and hoped that she’d either be around to graduate or that her mechanics degree from the Garrison would be worth something once all of this blew over. 

 

She jumped when there was a knock at her door. “Who is it?” she called.

 

“Celine! It’s Medina,” said one voice.

 

“And Jules!!” another voice piped up behind the door. Celine opened the door and was greeted by a “Surprise!” from Jules. 

 

“What are you guys doing here?” Celine asked in confusion. She hadn’t heard from Medina in a while.  _ And where the hell did Jules come from? _

 

“Still no word from Keith, right?” Medina asked.

 

“No,” Celine sighed.

 

“Well, uh… we’ve got something you need to see.”

 

\-----

 

The group had decided on a change of scenery and grabbed early afternoon drinks in a dark corner of Radio Bar. Woolf and Celine went through the equipment list Moore had made to determine what Woolf might be able to pilfer from work and what Celine might be able to swipe from the Garrison, or fabricate if needed. The rest of the group talked through the logistics of publishing the video and decided on a “soft leak”. They’d wait for a gradual public reaction to mount in order to guide their next steps. 

 

Woolf excused himself to walk to the washroom. When he returned he looked a little on edge. “Uh, guys, we should finish our drinks and relocate…”

 

“There’s hardly anyone here and people at the bar can’t even see us,” Jules objected, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Who’d you see?” Medina asked. “I can text Cora and find out if she’ll let us go out the back entrance.”

 

Woolf looked over his shoulder as he sat back down. “What’s your least favorite pasta, Medina?”

 

“I don’t really like pasta.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, but if you had to pick your  _ least _ favorite, you know… would it be rigatoni, or spaghetti, or  _ ravioli… _ ”

 

“That fucker’s here?! I hope his nose looks crooked.” Medina tried craning his neck around the corner to catch a glance at the bar. Rivali and Medina had generally avoided each other around the office since the “incident.”

 

Jules leaned into Erikson. “Is that… the guy?” he asked under his breath. Erikson closed his eyes and affirmed with a slight nod. Jules abruptly stood and looked around the corner with Medina. “The dirtbag with the tattoos?”

 

Medina snorted as he stifled his laughter. “Yeah.”

 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Jules announced.

 

Erikson stood up. “Jules…” he warned.

 

“I have to pee!” he called back as he made his way towards the restrooms.

 

Medina turned back towards the table. “Woolf, did he see you?”

 

“No, I don’t... think so...uh, never... mind...” Woolf’s sentence stalled out as he watched Rivali slither towards the table.

 

“What’s this? You kids having a reunion?” Rivali sneered.

 

Medina, of course, was the first to respond. “We were just leaving. How’s your nose?”

 

“It healed fine… I appreciate your concern. Kind of an… interesting time for you guys to be assembled…” Rivali said, choosing his words carefully.

 

Woolf recovered first. “We’re all in town for Medina’s birthday.”  _ Two months early…  _ “It  _ is _ interesting timing, though. How are the most recent current events treating you?”

 

“I wouldn’t know; that’s for the commanders to deal with,” Rivali coolly answered. “If you wait a few months though, I might be able to tell you. I start my advanced leadership training next week; I’ll be a commander by the end of the summer.”

 

“Congratulations,” Erikson offered.

 

“Thank you,” Rivali answered as he scanned the various notes on the bar table suspiciously. “Well, happy homecoming… And feliz compleanno, Medina.” Medina rolled his eyes at the half-Spanish, half-Italian birthday wish. 

 

Rivali took a step back to leave as his eyes slid over to Celine. “Aren’t you a little young to be around these guys, sweetheart?”

 

Celine met his gaze. “Spare me, you sleaze. Maybe you’re just really  _ old _ ,” she shot back, curling her lip.

 

Rivali raised his eyebrows in in response and turned to leave, only to bump into Jules who was standing right behind him. Jules held a pint glass containing a viscous, cherry-red liquid that spilled on Rivali’s white tee, although the majority of it made it on the floor. And his boots.

 

“What the fuck?!” Rivali cursed, more concerned about his shoes that the shirt.

 

“Excuse you,” Jules snapped. He looked down, pretending to assess the damage. “You’re gonna want to clean those ASAP. When grenadine syrup dries, it’s stickier than cum.”

 

Rivali’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Jules. “Who the  _ fuck _ are you?!”

 

Jules’ voice dropped an octave as he snarled back. “Who the fuck are  _ you _ ?!”

 

Erikson got nervous and stood up as did Medina. Rivali looked around and, acknowledging that he was outnumbered, backed away. He hurried off to the bathroom to clean his beloved boots, tracking a trail of red syrup. As soon as he was out of earshot, Medina inspected the almost-empty pint glass and threw his head back laughing. “You ordered a pint of grenadine at the bar?!”

 

“Hell yeah, I did. Fuck that creep. You won’t be able to order a Shirley Temple or a Sex on the Beach for a week, I cleaned them out of grenadine. Now let’s get the hell out of here,” Jules said, hurriedly gathering the few bar napkins Moore had scribbled notes on.

 

\-----

 

Celine fought her way through a crowd of protesters near the Garrison's public planetarium on Monday morning. GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs_01.mp4 had leaked overnight. Once inside the mechanics building, the hallways felt electric.  _ Voltron, Shiro, aliens,  _ and _ conspiracy _ were the words on every student’s lips. Celine walked into the mechanics lab an hour before her class was scheduled to begin.

 

She combed through old parts in the storage closet and threw a few items in a bag. She stored the bag in one of the lab lockers, praying that Woolf would have access to better antennas than what she was able to scrounge up. She then exited the building and made her way to the administrative wing of the aviation building that housed the Garrison servers.

 

She was able to convince an intern from the information technology department that she needed to see the servers for a project she was working on. Moore had even forged a formal release form to make the request appear more legitimate. 

 

The intern walked her over to the server room. “I’ll be back to get you in five minutes.  _ Please _ don’t touch anything,” the intern pleaded. “And absolutely no pictures. I can’t let you take your phone in there.”

 

Celine handed her phone over as the intern scanned his ID card to let her in. Once inside she referred to Medina’s hand-drawn map to locate the current USB drive so that she could reposition it. She paused when she walked past the locked door that housed the high security servers. Hopefully Moore would find a way in. Slightly further into the narrow room, she knelt down to pull the USB and froze when she heard the main door open and close again. It hadn’t been five minutes yet.  _ Fuck. _

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t have students near the servers right now. I’m sure you understand the circumstances.” She looked over and came face to face with Alexander Rivali who had knelt down beside her.

 

“I have the right signatures on my release form,” Celine retorted.

 

“I saw, but… I’m sorry.”

 

“I want to speak to the senior officer on duty,” Celine demanded. She tried to keep her voice steady while her heart pounded.

 

“You’re speaking to him… As you can imagine, in light of this past weekend’s events, the senior-most officers are in meetings. I need to see your ID card,” Rivali said calmly.

 

Celine immediately thought back to the night Keith had told her about the way Rivali had gripped his hair in a threatening and...suggestive manner in one of the flight simulators.  _ ‘I wasn’t going to charge you, but... there’s the other two times…’   _ Is that what this scumbag had said to Keith? Even more unsettling was the way Medina’s eyes had darkened when he was around Rivali yesterday. Somehow Medina knew more than Keith had ever confided in her...

 

She attempted to steady her breath, but her hand trembled as she handed over her student identification. Rivali reached for it and her entire body tensed, ready to dodge any sudden movement he made. 

 

Rivali didn’t even look at the ID as he kept his eyes on Celine. “Have you seen the video?”

 

Celine nodded. This small bit of information wouldn't give her away;  _ every _ student had seen it.

 

“Is... that why Erikson and Moore are here?”

 

“No… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

“Was it Moore? He’s been keeping tabs on the Garrison since he left. He leaked the video, didn’t he?”

 

“I honestly don’t know where the footage came from,” she answered.

 

Rivali studied her eyes. “Have you... tried to make contact with them?”

 

Celine whispered, “Who?” She didn’t know what to make of Rivali’s oddly hesitant question.

 

Rivali paused and looked at the ground and let out a deep breath. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept hearing his voice over and over.”

 

Celine held her breath. “Keith’s?” she asked.

 

Rivali looked back up. “Takashi’s.” He then stood up and walked over to the door to the high-security servers with her ID card. “Although, Keith’s words haunted me before last night. I guess I haven’t been able to sleep, in general, this past year. He was right…” He paused and then scanned her ID card. “If you’re able to talk to either of them… tell them I’m sorry.”

 

Celine breathed easier now that Rivali was more than an arm’s length away from her. “What do you mean?”

 

“It happened to Shiro, but that could’ve been me. He obviously… suffered. A great deal. But there would’ve been a different cover-up had it been me, or anyone else. This… Whatever is happening. It goes way up in the ranks,” Rivali divulged, facing the door.

 

“Commander Iverson?” Celine’s eyes widened.

 

Rivali punched a few numbers into the screen in front of the door as he whispered, “Chief Administrator Adisa.” 

 

_ Fuck. This is so fucked up.  _

 

He then looked over to her. “Are you going to come over here so I can program your fingerprints into the admin security system or not?” Rivali asked.

 

Celine’s mouth dropped open. She rose slowly from the floor. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping us?” she asked as she slowly approached him.

  
Rivali fell silent while he pressed her hand into a security screen for fingerprint recognition. When the scan was complete he handed her ID card back to her. “This is bigger than us.” He turned and walked out while the door to the high-security server room unlocked for Celine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	5. This is quite a rabbit hole...

Rivali was at the office late when his cell vibrated on the desk. “Hi, Brianna.”

 

“Hey, Dad. Mom wants to know if you got a plane ticket to Indianapolis yet.”

 

 _Shit…_ “Uh… I’m sorry sweetie, I’ve been really busy. I don’t think I can make it.”

 

“But… It’s my eighth grade graduation.”

 

Rivali closed his eyes and tried to disregard the dejection in his daughter’s voice. “I know... I’m really sorry. It’s been crazy at work.”

 

Brianna sighed heavily into the phone. “OK… Mom wants to talk to you.”

 

“Of course she does...”

 

“Alex?! You didn’t buy a plane ticket?!” Rivali’s ex-wife shouted into the phone.

 

“Sarah, have you _seen_ the fucking news? I’m not just sitting on my ass doing nothing. It’s absolutely _insane_ here.”

 

“You didn’t even request the time off, did you?”

 

“I was waiting to see what was going to happen at work.” Rivali knew it was a weak excuse.

 

“Alex, I don’t get you. Why don’t you pay attention to something other than work or yourself for _once_ in your life? Brianna is going to be heartbroken. Her choir concert is the day before graduation and she has a solo. You’re going to miss that too?!”

 

Just then, a strange messenger notification popped up on Rivali’s computer screen:

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: What does G.I.C. stand for?

 

Rivali’s ex continued while he stared at the odd message. “At least Steven will be there. I seriously… I can’t believe you.”

 

Rivali rolled his eyes at the mention of his ex’s new husband. “I’ll look into last-minute flights,” he offered distractedly as he typed into his desktop messenger:

 

ARivali: Moore? Is that you?

 

“Did you receive the paperwork I sent?” Sarah asked.

 

Rivali looked at the overnighted envelope on his desk containing the papers for consent to adoption and termination of parental rights. “Yeah… I’d kinda like to meet this guy before I sign this shit.”

 

“Well if you bought a plane ticket like you were supposed to, then you’d be able to meet Steven. I assure you, he’s been more of a father to Brianna in the past twelve months than you’ve _ever_ been in thirteen years.” Sarah ended the call. Rivali held his temples and closed his eyes to quell his rising anxiety as a new notification pinged on his computer.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: What does G.I.C. stand for?

 

ARivali: I don’t know what that is.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: If we can trust you, then tell us what G.I.C. stands for.

 

ARivali: I don’t know what you’re talking about. They can monitor this messenger transcript, by the way.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: Nothing we can’t take care of.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: This ship is capsizing. You aren’t protecting anyone by withholding information.

 

ARivali: I still don’t know what G.I.C. is.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: It is our understanding that the G.I.C. map is updated as a hardcopy in the archives cellar and that the archives are on lockdown.

 

ARivali: I don’t know anything about a map, but yes, hardcopy archives are on lockdown.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: Who has access?

 

Rivali took a deep breath.

 

ARivali: I do.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: Leave a color photocopy in a blank envelope in the outgoing mail bin by 2300.

 

GxyGarrisonIsAgainstUs: Say hi to your family for us.

 

An internet browser window popped up with flight deals to Indianapolis. Rivali’s eyes darted up to the security camera outside of his office door.

 

\-----

 

Jules stirred early. He looked over to Erikson who lay with his back to him. Jules sighed. He told himself that he didn’t like being smothered and so he wasn’t bothered that Erikson wasn’t much of a cuddler… But he knew it was a lie.

 

He threw on one of Erikson’s old tees, grabbed his laptop, and padded down the stairs. Moore was on the couch. Still awake. Still working. “Do you ever sleep?” Jules asked.

 

Moore snorted. “Uh... I take scattered naps but, no, not really. I haven’t slept a full night in months.”

 

Jules heard Medina in the kitchen. “Before I ask if you need help, I need coffee,” Jules said.

 

“On it,” Medina called. “What up, Jules?”

 

“Morning, Dani. Where’s Elliot?” Jules asked, peering around the corner into the kitchen.

 

“He had a 6:00 a.m. flight so I brought him to the airport. He couldn't take any more time off of work,” Medina responded, handing Jules a cup of coffee.

 

“Well, somebody’s gotta have a job around here,” Jules teased.

 

“ _I_ have a job,” Medina said defensively.

 

“Not when _we’re_ through with the Garrison,” Moore said, eyes shining.

 

“Damn. I need to update my resume,” Medina joked, flopping down on the couch next to Moore.

 

Jules sipped his coffee. “OK, so, what can I do?” he offered.

 

“Um…” Moore pulled off his glasses, scrubbed his eyes, and then pinched the bridge of his nose before starting. “I just have so much information and I don’t know what to do with all of it. I don’t even know what some of the words mean. I think first, we need to do as much research as we can to look into the two most prominent words that I’ve come across. I’ve separated all the files containing those words and saved them onto two different USB drives. We just need to spend time combing through them to piece together their meaning.”

 

“OK. That’s easy enough for me. I have to speed-read at least thirty academic articles a day for my dissertation. What are the words you need to define?”

 

“Voltron and Galra,” Moore answered.

 

“Yeah, no idea what that shit means,” Jules said. “Voltron sounds like a character in some cheesy sci-fi cartoon from the 80s. Like _Thundercats_ . Or _Dinosaucers_! There was a stupid cartoon about dinosaurs in space,” Jules laughed. “I wish I grew up in the 1980s…”

 

Moore and Medina laughed. “So you wanna take Voltron?” Moore asked, offering one of the USB drives.

 

“Meh… I’ll take Galra. Sounds less ‘tech-y’,” Jules responded.

 

“OK, I’ve kind of been going through some of those files as well,” Moore answered. “Medina can take Voltron.”

 

“What have you found so far?” Jules asked, looking for some sort of direction.

 

Moore looked between both boys and then pulled a topographical map of Arizona out of a blank envelope on the coffee table. The map had a hand-drawn network of lines that did not correspond with highways. “This is a map of underground tunnels that lead to what the Garrison refers to as ‘G.I.C.s’. Galra Imprisonment Camps.”

 

A chill crawled across Jules’ shoulder blades. “Well, that’s got a... pleasant ring to it…” he said sarcastically. He took the “Galra” USB from Moore and posted up at the kitchen table while Medina researched “Voltron.”

 

For about an hour, Jules scoured the files, highlighting important context and making notes in a separate document. The more time Jules spent reading through the files, the more uneasy he felt. The term “Galra” was starting to sound like an alien race. And there were many of them on Earth... _What the fuck have I gotten myself into?_

 

Jules’ investigation was interrupted when the back door opened into the kitchen. A confused African-American woman stood in the doorway, holding a five-year-old with support from her hip. “Um… Hello… I’m Nadia,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Hi... I’m Jules,” he greeted, realizing how odd it must be for Nadia to see a skinny queer sitting at her fiancé’s kitchen table with no pants on...

 

“Uh, nice to meet you,” she responded, setting her little boy down. “You’re Erikson’s… friend. Right?”

 

“Ah… yeah. Roommates-ish. Yeah,” Jules fumbled explaining what the hell was going on with the blonde boy.

 

Luckily Medina came to the rescue quickly, greeting Nadia with a kiss. “Hey babe. Shawn! What’s up, little man?” Jules looked on as Medina kneeled down and laughed when Shawn “blew up” his fist bump.

 

“You sure you don’t mind dropping him off at school for me?” Nadia asked, looking flustered. “I’m sorry, this stupid meeting is so last minute… This won’t make you late for work, will it?”

 

“Not at all. No worries,” Medina said.

 

“OK. Thanks, baby.” She moved to hurry back out the door but then turned around. “Jules, nice to meet you. Dani, please don’t feed Shawn sugary crap for breakfast.”

 

“What?! I don’t do that!” Medina denied animatedly. When the door closed, he looked at Shawn. “What do you want for breakfast?”

 

“Waffles with syrup!” Shawn replied with a mischievous smile.

 

“OK, but don’t rat me out this time,” Medina laughed. “You want waffles, guys?” Medina called to his friends while plopping Shawn in the chair beside Jules.

 

Jules and Shawn examined each other. “Um… Hi,” Jules said awkwardly.

 

Shawn looked at Jules’ white nail polish. “Nail polish is for girls,” he stated matter-of-factly.

 

Medina snickered with amusement while he started the batter for waffles.

 

“Ah… well, yes… Typically girls wear nail polish. But boys can too if they want,” Jules answered. “And anyone who doesn’t identify as a boy or a girl could also wear nail polish if they wanted to.”

 

“Oh,” Shawn responded, satisfied with Jules’ answer. He dug out some crayons and a coloring book from his backpack. “Do you want to color with me?” He then dropped his voice to a whisper, “Dani isn’t very good at coloring.”

 

“Hey, I heard that!” Medina said. Jules laughed as he picked out a teal crayon and waited for waffles with Shawn, grateful for the break from his Galra research.

 

\-----

 

“GOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLL!!!!!”

 

Erikson was startled awake by Medina cheering obnoxiously. _What the fuck?!_ He then heard Moore and Jules laughing outside. _Why are they all awake already?_

 

He ran his hand through his hair and stood up to look out the window. The three were playing soccer in the backyard with Shawn. Medina was high-fiving Shawn who had apparently scored a goal. Moore was sprawled on the grass.

 

“My teammate did _not_ get a full night’s sleep. This isn’t fair!” Jules protested while Medina gloated in his face. Erikson chuckled at the sight.

 

He bounded down the stairs and saw empty plates and a bottle of syrup on the kitchen table. _Damn, I missed waffles._

 

He stepped outside and was greeted with a “Good morning, princess,” from Medina.

 

“Soccer before 8:00 a.m., guys? Really?” Erikson yawned, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Well, Shawn needed to burn off some excess energy from his sugar-laden breakfast and we decided Wesley needed a break. But he’s a crappy goalie!” Jules complained.

 

“I’m tired,” Moore announced from the grass.

 

“Maybe Shawn just has awesome skills that he learned from me!” Medina speculated.

 

“Highly unlikely,” Erikson joked with a smile.

 

“Whatever,” Medina dismissed. “Shawn, almost ready to head to school, kiddo? I gotta go to work soon.”

 

“Handoff meeting in five,” Moore called as he sat up. “Erikson, you’re taking over Voltron duty for Medina.”

 

\-----

 

Shawn colored in the kitchen while the boys huddled around the coffee table in the next room before Medina left. “OK, so from what I can tell, Voltron is like this robot… thing. It’s made up of five independent vessels that look like lions. It sounds weird but it’s apparently an ancient but powerful weapon and everyone’s trying to find it. Or the parts, at least…That’s as far as I got,” Medina said as he handed the USB to Erikson.

 

“So maybe that blue cat-aircraft-thing from the other day is related?” Erikson questioned.

 

“Yeah, I think so,” Medina answered. “And that’s the vessel that we need to try to contact. Woolf is going to text me later. He thinks he’ll be able to get his hands on a super-powerful antenna from work.”

 

“By the way,” Erikson interjected, “where the hell are we building this satellite so that no one sees it?”

 

“In the desert,” Moore answered like he had already thought it out in his head.

 

“Exactly. How the hell are we getting out there without relying on the roads?” Erikson inquired. “We don’t have a hovercraft. And we need something big enough to haul parts.”

 

“Um… I thought we could operate a small prop plane out of one of the nearby university airports,” Moore said.

 

“Who here owns a fucking prop plane?!” Erikson looked at Moore like he was crazy. The group looked back at Erikson expectantly. “I don’t have the money to buy a plane, guys…”

 

“Can you…” Moore tiptoed, “maybe… get a loan from your dad?”

 

“You could tell him you’re starting a small, high-end tourism business in L.A,” Jules brainstormed.

 

Erikson wanted to resist out of principle but they were going to need a way to get around in the desert anyway; especially if they were going to investigate locations on the G.I.C. map Moore had presented. “I’m going to need to write a fake business plan. My dad’s not just going to hand a shit-ton of money over to me.” The group just looked at him blankly. Erikson gave in. “OK... I’ll book a flight to Boston and talk to him.”

 

Moore nodded his head. “Cool. Thank you. OK, Jules, what did you find?”

 

“So,” Jules started. “It looks like the Galra are an alien race. I couldn’t find anything on how long they’ve been on Earth but they’ve been ‘procreating’ with humans for generations to the point where they blend in and just look like the rest of us.”

 

“That’s… a little creepy,” Medina commented.

 

“The Garrison, and potentially the U.S. government, have been attempting to round them up and isolate them from the rest of the human population in a network of subterranean tunnels and ‘camps’; hence the G.I.C. map. What’s confusing is that there a couple of sects within the Galra alien race. I can’t tell if the division is ethnic or religious, but there is a Zarkonian sect and a Marmoran sect and maybe another one. Apparently there’s an ongoing war dominated by the Zarkonian sect, led by an emperor named Zarkon. The most elite leaders of the Marmorans are referred to as ‘Blades’ and the Garrison theorizes that the Blades remaining in space could be trying to lead a rebellion against Zarkon; however, the Blades on Earth appear to have brought their people here to escape the war. Wesley, does that sort of align with what you’ve found?”

 

“Yeah, there’s definitely an intergalactic war going on. The aliens that Shiro is talking about in the video sound like the Zarkonians. It’s unclear if the Galra Imprisonment Camps are an attempt to keep the Marmorans quiet or if the Garrison is imprisoning all the Galra they can find.” Moore shook his head. “I can’t tell what the Garrison's motives are right now.”

 

He continued, “But, what you explained about the Marmoran sect helps makes sense of this other thing that I’m looking at. It looks like the Garrison has been desperately searching for a specific person that may be the key to empowering the imprisoned Galra to rise up. I spent most of the night just going through her information. They think she descends from a sacred bloodline of cultural and spiritual leaders from the Marmoran sect. The leaders of the Marmorans believe that she or her offspring are the only ones with the ability to unite the Galra, and quite possibly the rest of the universe, to help end the war. She’s difficult to track and has a number of aliases that change throughout the years. Currently, they think she goes by Gwansun Lee. Before that she was Yuna Winston, before that, Aldis Song. And, get ready for this… The Garrison recently discovered that she went by Ayla Kogane-Miller about twenty years ago.” Moore looked up, waiting for the group’s reaction.

 

“Kogane!?” Medina exclaimed. “Like… Like Keith Kogane?”

 

“Yeah...” Moore confirmed.

 

“This keeps getting crazier and crazier... Do you think there’s any relation?” Erikson asked.

 

“They just describe her to be likely in her late 40s or early 50s, part-Asian, fair-skinned, black hair, dark purple eyes,” Moore read from a report. “Pretty vague except for the eye color.”

 

“Moore, on the higher security server, do you have access to student records? Like… birth certificates? Her name could be on his birth certificate...” Medina speculated.

 

“Ah… Yeah, I guess. But it doesn’t make a difference either way. I don’t think it’s our business. We should try to find her before the Garrison does regardless of who her offspring may be,” Moore reasoned.

 

“But…” Erikson thought aloud. “Let’s say we find her… She’d be more likely to talk to us if we could prove that we know her son… Right? And if we make contact with that blue lion, we’ll be able to tell her where her son is.”

 

“Um… OK. I guess I’ll dig through student records then…” Moore said hesitantly. “This is… quite a rabbit hole we’ve fallen down.” The group sat silently, digesting the information that had just been presented.

 

Overwhelmed, Erikson huffed with frustration. “OK… so checklist is: assemble this crazy satellite in order to send word to Shiro which he may or may not receive; find Voltron or parts of Voltron which may or may not still be on Earth; find more information about these underground camps and maybe locate entry points which may or may not be possible; and find a woman that could end all of this and may or may not be Keith’s mother… Where do we even start?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you for reading especially since this is 99% OC.


	6. This is my part- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team “Fuck the Garrison” divides and conquers.  
> -Part 1 (chapter 6): Celine works on the satellite in Medina’s garage and Woolf flies back to Arizona to deliver parts and help out. Sure the satellite needs a lot of work, but they’ve got all weekend.  
> -Part 2 (chapter 7): Erikson and Jules fly to New England to ask Erikson’s father for money in order to buy a plane. Jules learns some interesting things about Erikson during their trip. Not all are good. Warning for derogatory homophobic language.  
> -Part 3 (chapter 8): Medina and Moore fly to New York and follow a lead to locate Keith’s mother in Flushing, Queens. Medina and Moore antics ensue but they return home having made a few new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is back open!  
> Thanks as always to avidbeader  
> She's the shit and keeps my shit together.

Part 1: Celine and Woolf

 

Late in the evening, she heard the front door open and slam shut, followed by a “Hello?!”

 

Celine finished tightening a fastener on what was going to be the satellite's base. “In the garage!” she shouted. 

 

From the kitchen door, Woolf stepped into Medina’s sweltering garage, still in a shirt and tie from work, bearing what appeared to be a large antenna secured in bubble wrap. “Hey, you,” he greeted.

 

“Hey, Elliot,” she returned. “I take it you found Erikson’s car at the airport without any issues?”

 

“Yeah. It was nice to not wait for a rental car this time around,” Woolf answered. “I just can’t believe I still had his spare set of keys,” he added. “Medina and Moore left already?”

 

“Yep. It’s just me and this lovely hunk of junk,” Celine said, gesturing to the mismatched hardware strewn about the concrete floor.

 

“It’s not junky, it just has… character. How’s it going?”

 

“Um, it’s going. I guess. I’m getting things assembled but also trying to leave it in small, manageable sections. I don’t know how much room we’re going to have in this tiny plane that Erikson plans on buying.” She stood up from her crouched position, cracked her neck, and wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

 

“My, that’s a large tool you have…” Woolf joked, referring to the weapons-grade wrench Celine was still clutching in her left hand.

 

“Yeah? You like it? Your, uh…  _ package _ is fairly impressive as well,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at Woolf’s antenna.

 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Woolf responded with a straight face.

 

Celine playfully rolled her eyes. “You must’ve overheard all the gossip from my girlfriends back at the Garrison then?”

 

Woolf approached, carefully unwrapped the antenna, and set it on the workbench. “What gossip?” 

 

“You know. Girls like to talk… speculate...”

 

“About what?” Woolf questioned.

 

Celine shrugged. “Boys…” she answered vaguely.

 

“About my brother since they love terrorizing him?”

 

“ _ I _ didn’t terrorize him! I played nicely,” she answered defensively. “He  _ is _ super-sensitive, though…  But yeah... they gossiped about your brother sometimes. It was usually more about you, though.”

 

“What? Why? What did I do?”

 

“Oh, come on. You ran with Shiro’s crowd. You were second-best in your graduating class after Shiro.”

 

“ _ Distant _ second,” Woolf humbly clarified.

 

“Whatever. You were really good. Plus, you're like, the cuter older brother.”

 

“Cuter?”

 

“Did I stutter?”

 

Woolf paused and narrowed his eyes while he loosened his tie. “You’re trouble.”

 

“ _ You’re _ trouble.” Celine gave it right back as they engaged in a brief staredown. Woolf abruptly looked down and then around the room. Realizing that her forwardness might be making her ex-almost-boyfriend’s older brother a little uneasy, she switched subjects. “How  _ is _ Neil, by the way?”

 

“Uh, he’s good. Still living with my parents. He’s um… seeing another girl,” Woolf offered with hesitation.

 

“You Woolf brothers… popular boys. Can’t keep the girls from knocking your doors down,” Celine joked bitterly.

 

Woolf waved his hand to dismiss Celine’s comment. “My parents don’t really like her. My mom is going crazy.”

 

“What about you? Do  _ you _ like her?” Celine asked.

 

“She’s just OK. I mean, Neil’s happy and all but, I like you better,” he answered, looking over at her again.

 

“You like  _ me _ better?” she questioned. Celine knew she shouldn’t read too much into his statement… but she had to ask.

 

“Did I stutter?” Woolf playfully mocked.

 

“What about  _ your _ girlfriend? Does your mom like her?” Celine asked, mostly to ground herself.

 

“Who, Gretchen?”

 

“Yeah. Super-cute, crazy-smart math genius from work. You’ve had a few dates with her, no?”

 

Woolf rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, yeah, I guess. We’re not really  _ together, _ though. She hasn’t met the fam or anything.” Then Woolf snorted. “Actually, she keeps joking that I have a wife and kids on the side because I’m never around on the weekends when she wants to make plans. I’m always here.”

 

“That  _ does _ sound suspicious…” Celine teased. “Does she know your ‘kids’ are a bunch of grown-ass dudes?”

 

“Plus you,” Woolf added with a grin. “You’re part of our ‘Fuck the Garrison’ family, too, whether you like it or not.”

 

Celine smiled back. “Thanks. It’s been fun hanging with the boys, I guess. It’s better than being in my cramped dorm room.”

 

“Well, you’re not going to be in the dorms much longer, right? Graduation is tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, my parents will be here in the morning.”

 

“That’s exciting! You going back home with them?” Woolf asked.

 

“Well, I’d like to stick around and finish this,” she said, gesturing to the parts on the floor. “I might need to lie and tell my parents that I have a summer internship so that I can stay a little longer.” 

 

“Celine, you’ve been working on this thing a lot. You should go home and spend time with your parents. You need a break.”

 

Celine knew she could trust the boys to finish the satellite but she shook her head. “I  _ need _ to help find Keith and Shiro. And this is my part. I have to finish what I started.” Her heart squeezed tightly in her chest, knowing they were out there, somewhere. Hopefully together.

 

“I know... We’ll find them,” Woolf said. “But I’m here to help you. OK? You don’t have to take this on by yourself. Did you even set aside time to study for exams?” he then asked with concern.

 

“Yeah, I crammed. It was fine. It’s hard to focus and take tests with people protesting outside the buildings all the time, so the professors went easy on us. Did you see that the Garrison is saying that the leaked videos are fake, but they’re going to expedite sending an investigative team to Kerberos anyway?”

 

“Yeah… It doesn’t even make sense. I can’t watch the news anymore. The Garrison is backpedaling and trying to cover itself any way it can so that it can avoid a federal investigation.”

 

“It’s infuriating,” Celine agreed. “But, at least it made final exams a little easier. We’ll see if anyone wants to actually hire me with ‘Galaxy Garrison’ on my resume.”

 

Woolf nodded. “You’ll be fine when you graduate. Oh, that reminds me.” He set his messenger bag on the workbench and dug through it, fishing out an envelope. “I bought a ticket to your graduation. Hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure if your family was coming so I thought I could be a weak substitution if they couldn't make it.”

 

Celine was shocked but tried to not let it show. “That’s so sweet of you.”

 

“I don’t have to go if it’ll be weird or…”

 

“No! No, you should come!”

 

“OK... Cool. Well, why don’t you take a break and let me work on this for a bit? It’s crazy-hot in here. I think Medina has a fan around here somewhere,” Woolf said, peeking behind the half-assembled swingset that Medina was building for his future stepson.

 

“Yeah, OK, thanks. I’m going to take a shower. I’m so sweaty and gross,” she complained, walking towards the door. “I  _ do _ need to tinker with the circuit board a bit tonight, though. Oh, and I was just going to order some Chinese take-out for dinner, if that’s cool with you.”

 

“Sure, sounds good,” Woolf replied, rolling up his sleeves and examining the rough blueprint he, Celine, and Moore had drafted.

 

Celine groaned as she cracked her neck again and entered the house. She slowly untied her work boots, replaying the conversation she’d just had. She shouldn’t be feeling anything about Neil’s brother right now. He was just being nice and maybe it was going to her head because she’d been spending way too much time with the rest of Shiro’s crazy friends.  _ Sweet lord, how do those boys qualify as adults? _ Woolf was definitely the most normal one of the group. And actually, it had never dawned on Celine until now, but Woolf’s personality was the most similar to Shiro’s.

 

Celine showered leisurely in the bathroom downstairs, enjoying the fact that it was not a dorm shower. There wasn’t a line of irritated girls waiting in the hallway so she could actually take her time. When she was pretty sure she’d used almost all of the hot water, she dragged herself out of the shower, towel-dried her hair, and got dressed. 

 

She walked out of the bathroom and was taken off-guard when she saw Woolf sitting on the couch, still wearing his work clothes. “I thought you were taking over for me. Get back to work,” she teased.

 

Woolf laughed. “I was thinking… We should go out to dinner instead.”

 

Celine was taken even more off-guard. “Um… OK. Why?” she asked, trying to play it cool. 

 

“Because you probably won’t take a break unless I get you out of the house. And plus, you’ll probably be busy with your fam tomorrow so I thought I’d take you out tonight so you and I can celebrate.”

 

Celine approached and sat down on the couch.  _ I hope I’m not blushing. Does my wet hair look insane right now?  _  “OK. Where to?”

 

“Anywhere you want,” he answered with a smile.

 

\-----

 

“Wanna try some?” Celine offered her escargot to Woolf.

 

“Uh… I’m cool with seafood and all, but snails… I don’t know,” he said, looking at her appetizer with uncertainty.

 

“You’re missing out.” 

 

Woolf chuckled and shook his head. “I want  _ you _ to enjoy it.”

 

Celine smiled and looked down. “I am… This is really nice, by the way. Thanks.”

 

“Of course.” Woolf offered his cute smile.

 

“So…” Celine began nervously, mostly to just fill the momentary pause in conversation and trying to think of what to talk about with this boy. “I was thinking of moving the satellite's solar panel so that-”

 

“I thought I told you. No talking shop during dinner,” Woolf interrupted.

 

“I know… It’s just all I think about. I really want this thing to work. I don’t want to spend all this time to just send a signal out into the void… I want Keith to know that we’re behind him.” 

 

“I know. We are. And we’ll figure it out,” Woolf reassured her as the rest of their food arrived.

 

Celine nodded. “Have you thought about what we’re going to say? And how we’ll encrypt it? The Garrison could easily pick up and decode the signal if it’s in Morse or binary.” 

 

Woolf immediately held out his steak frites to Celine. “I know you want one of these,” he said, smiling.

 

“You read my mind,” she laughed as she plucked a few fries off the plate.

 

“I like how getting fries at a French restaurant seems more sophisticated than getting fries at any other restaurant,” he observed.

 

Celine nodded in agreement. “Are you gonna answer my question? About the satellite?”

 

“So, I’ve always meant to ask you…” Woolf started as he ignored Celine’s question with a sly smirk.

 

“Oh my god, you won’t let me talk about the satellite at all!” she complained.

 

“What’s your favorite color?”

 

Celine thought up a ridiculous answer. “Plaid. OK, what message are we-”

 

“Plaid?! That’s not a color,” Woolf interjected. “OK, what’s your all-time favorite album?”

 

“Ugh, I can’t possibly give you one answer and we’d be here all night. That’s a complicated question. You’re asking me to contemplate life,” Celine retorted.

 

“Good answer,” Woolf praised. 

 

“So… Back to the satellite…” Celine tried again, mostly because this was turning into a game.

 

Woolf shook his head and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine… We can discuss for the next-” he started as he pulled out his phone to look at the time, “five minutes. After that, no more satellite until tomorrow. You wanted to know what kind of message we’re sending?”

 

“Yeah. Well, more about  _ how _ we’re coding it and sending it. It could make a difference in the circuit board and wiring based on how complex it is.”

 

“Moore and I have been talking about it. You were right earlier; the Garrison could easily intercept our communication so we have to make sure it’s something that wouldn’t mean anything to them.”

 

“Well, also, if there are aliens that are monitoring Earth and have been for god-knows-how-long, they’ve had a long time to decipher the binary or Morse signals that we’ve been sending out. We need something different,” Celine reasoned.

 

Woolf continued, “Yeah, definitely. I actually hadn’t even considered that as a problem as well. I was just concerned with the Garrison. But, anyway, I had an idea that I discussed with Moore last weekend. I thought we could send a song since the Garrison would just overlook it as a radio station or something. It would have to be a song that Keith and Shiro would both know was meant for them.”

 

“Interesting… The song would be the message though? It wouldn’t be specific enough.”

 

“Well, I originally thought that the file name of the song could be saved in a numerical pattern that would point out letters in the lyrics that would form a message. So, it would have to be a song that Keith or Shiro would know the lyrics to. But after I talked to Moore, he said we can embed a small message in the file at the right point where we’d want to get their attention. We’d make it obvious enough so that they’d know where to look, again, assuming that they’re familiar with that song.”

 

“I like that idea,” Celine said, wheels turning. “What’s the song? Keith’s music taste is pretty eclectic.”

 

“But Shiro had introduced him to some of the classic rock he listened to, right?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“OK, so of the stuff Shiro listened to, what did Keith actually like and listen to on his own? I want to make sure Keith will know the song just in case they get… separated or...something,” Woolf said, trying not to bring the mood down.

 

“Hmmm… I think he liked some of the older David Bowie stuff, The Stooges… Oh, the first band he got into after meeting Shiro was Pink Floyd.” 

 

Woolf’s face lit up. “That’s perfect,” he said to himself. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the music on it. “What albums?” he asked Celine.

 

“Um, just  _ The Wall _ and  _ Dark Side of the Moon _ ,” she recalled.

 

“I might have the perfect song,” he said, playing a vaguely familiar melody for Celine. “Do you think he knows this song? It’s not on either of those albums.”

 

Celine thought back to the colors, sounds, and smells of their dorm rooms: all the times she and Keith studied or helped each other with school projects, all the times they huddled near Keith’s dorm window to smoke and bitch about their classmates, and all the times she would stop by to make sure Keith was holding up during difficult times. She remembered holding him on her bed as they watched the Kerberos launch. During the cold winter months that followed, she remembered stopping by his room to cheer him up and distinctly remembered the music that Keith had playing in the background. “I’ve definitely heard him listen to this song. Especially... after Shiro left. What’s it called?”

 

Woolf smiled. “Wish You Were Here.”

 

\-----

 

The sound effects of a terribly unrealistic fight scene woke Celine. She squinted from the bright light emanating from the television but when she glanced towards the window, she saw that it was still dark out. She closed her eyes again, happy that it was not time to wake up; she was surprisingly content to be on the couch next to-  _ Wait. _ Celine sat up quickly, realizing she’d been leaning against Woolf.  _ I must’ve dozed off during the movie. _ She looked over and luckily, he was asleep as well, and hopefully had not noticed her head on his shoulder for the past hour.

 

She inspected his shirt where her head had just been and breathed a sigh of relief when she found no visible evidence of drool on his shoulder. Not wanting to leave the couch but knowing she should relocate to a real bed, Celine weighed her options.  _ Let’s see, guest room with full-sized bed or couch with Woolf and possible awkward conversation tomorrow morning. _ Her heart told her to indulge and cozy up next to Woolf. But her brain quickly reminded her, again, that liking her sort-of ex’s brother was simply not acceptable.  _ Fine, guestroom it is… _ Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she leaned forward for the remote and stopped the movie.

 

“Where are you going?” Woolf mumbled with his eyes closed.

 

“To bed,” Celine whispered.

 

“But the movie’s not over yet…”

 

Celine laughed quietly. “You’re not even watching the movie,” she said. Without realizing, she leaned back into him to give him a teasing nudge.  _ Oh my god, stop that, _ she scolded herself.

 

“I’m listening to it,” he joked, still keeping his eyes closed.

 

“Bullshit, you were sleeping,” Celine said, hoping it was true. Although if he had been awake this whole time and hadn’t shoved her off of him, maybe he was OK with… whatever this was... or whatever this could become.

 

“I’m awake, I was just resting my eyes,” he said with a cute grin. Celine willed herself to stand up from the couch but she wound up staring at his dimples instead. “Don’t go, you have to watch the ending.”

 

Celine pressed play and eased back onto the couch while her conscience fought her. “Our B-horror movie marathon is going to give me weird dreams,” she said. “Especially considering that we know aliens are already walking among us and the government is trying to cover it up.”

 

“I won’t let the aliens get you,” Woolf teased, finally opening his eyes to squint at Celine.

 

She flashed him a dirty look but nudged him playfully again. “Fuck you, I can take care of myself.”

 

Woolf chuckled and closed his eyes again. “I know you can. Actually you’ll wind up protecting me with that big-ass wrench of yours.” He shifted to spread out a bit more, resting his knee against hers and slinging his arm along the back of the couch. 

 

Celine stared distractedly at their limbs touching. Her heart fluttered but logic finally got through. “Well… I really should get to bed,” she said unconvincingly as she slowly rose from the couch.

 

“Hey, I thought you were going to stay and protect me,” Woolf joked.

 

“You’re a big boy, you’ll be fine.”

 

“You’re going to miss the best part of the movie,” he protested. “And by best, I mean cheesiest.”

 

Celine crossed her arms and decided to test him. “You really want me to watch the rest of this movie with you, huh?”  _ If he says no, and that he’s just kidding, then I’ll go and sleep in the guestroom; but if he says-  _ Woolf opened his eyes again, gave her an adorable sleepy smile, and nodded yes. She suddenly didn’t feel tired at all and sat back down on the couch with giddy butterflies in her stomach.

 

She took a deep breath and gave in.  _ Fuck it, I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow.  _ She sat back down and let herself relax into Woolf’s body again. He moved his arm from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulder to pull her in a little tighter.  _ Oh my god, how is this happening right now?  _ Too excited to fall back asleep, she kept her eyes open and watched the movie even though she couldn’t concentrate on the plot, or lack thereof. “Thanks again for dinner,” she whispered quietly.

 

Woolf responded with a smile and a gentle squeeze. She blushed and rested her head back on his shoulder.

 

\-----

 

The graduation was long, hot, and boring. Celine clutched her Galaxy Garrison diploma, sitting in the crowd that had already gone up to the podium. She closed her eyes when the Head Principal got to the Ks.

  
“Melissa Karringon. Aarav Khanna. Frederick King.”  _ Keith Kogane…  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts 2 and 3 to be added in the next day or so...  
> Thanks for reading!


	7. This is my part- Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erikson and Jules fly to New England to ask Erikson’s father for money in order to buy a plane. Jules learns some interesting things about Erikson during their trip. Not all are good. Warning for derogatory homophobic language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some drama.

Part 2: Jules and Erikson

 

Jules sat at gate A13 waiting for the redeye to Boston, rereading the business plan for the ninety-fifth time on his laptop. OK, maybe not ninety-fifth, but he’d read the damn thing a shit-ton of times. Erikson leaned in and looked over his shoulder. “Oh my god. Stop looking at it! You’re being crazy,” Erikson said. “We already printed it anyway.”

 

“Leave me alone. This is just what I do. OK?” Jules responded defensively. An email notification suddenly popped up in the corner of his laptop’s screen. A boy had just responded to Jules’ message on the dating site he’d recently joined.

 

“Who’s Nick?” Erikson teased, still looking over Jules’ shoulder.

 

“I met him on a dating site,” Jules stated indignantly. He felt Erikson turn cold immediately. Jules had experienced this same reaction all too many times; more times than he would normally put up with.

 

“You’re on a dating site?” Erikson questioned.

 

“Yes. I am. I haven’t dated in a while and… it’s been hard to meet someone new since I moved. I just need to get back in the game, OK? Don’t judge. People use dating sites all the time,” Jules explained in frustration. Erikson just sat in his seat, silently processing the reasons why Jules would possibly turn to a dating website.  _ And here’s where you confess that you’ve secretly been in love with me this entire time,  _ Jules thought to himself. Instead Jules was met with more silence.  _ Typical.  _

 

Finally Erikson said something. “Where’s he from?”

 

“L.A. I think he lives near Venice Beach.”

 

He felt Erikson’s eyes boring into the side of his head. “Well… good. We have a layover in L.A. on the way back so you can just stay there.”

 

Jules slammed his laptop shut.  _ That’s fucking it. Fuck this pompous asshole and his shitty attitude. _ He vaguely heard the boarding announcements begin for their flight as he stood and grabbed his carry-on bag, ignoring the looks he received from the innocent bystanders. “That won’t be a problem,” he seethed. 

 

He took one step away but was pulled back by Erikson’s grip on his arm. “Where are you going?”

 

“Away from  _ you _ . I’ll just change my flight to L.A. at the desk,” Jules said with a steady voice to overcome the pounding in his chest. 

 

Erikson rolled his eyes. “Come on… we’re boarding now,” he said, pulling Jules back towards the gate.

 

“It doesn’t matter. They won’t miss me,” Jules said, waving his hand towards the gate agents scanning the first-class tickets. “ _ You _ won’t miss me.”

 

“Jules…” Erikson wouldn’t let go of his arm. “I’m sorry.”  _ Well, that’s a first. _ “Look… You know the business plan inside and out and I’m probably going to freeze up at some point during our meeting. I need you,” Erikson finally admitted. “OK? Let’s just get on the plane.” 

 

Jules wanted to put up more of a fight as he was pulled towards the gate, but he’d never heard Erikson apologize. Ever. “Fine… but we still can’t board yet, they’ve only announced first-class.”

 

“We’re flying first-class. Come on,” Erikson snatched Jules’ bag from his hand and approached the flight attendant to present their tickets. 

 

_ Jesper bought me a first-class ticket? _ Jules heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. Erikson was just like that. In a single second the boy would insult him and then not bat an eye at spending a ridiculous amount of money on him. Jules cursed himself for falling for it again.

 

\-----

 

The anxious boys drove thirty minutes in a rental car from their hotel on Boston Common to the Erikson residence in Weston. Jules couldn’t help but gawk at the enormous houses as they drove through the affluent town. They finally pulled up to a Tudor-style mansion and Erikson turned the car engine off. He sat motionless, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. Jules looked over with concern. “You OK?”

 

Erikson hesitated. “Yeah…” he tensely answered. He then took a deep breath and got out of the car.

 

Jules got out, adjusted his tie in the side mirror, and then followed Erikson to the east wing entrance where his father kept his home office. As they walked through the door, they were immediately greeted by an enthusiastic young man. “Jesper! Good to see you, it’s been too long.”

 

“Rowan. Good to see you, too. Sorry, we don’t have a lot of time, is my father in his office? I made an appointment.”

 

Jules raised an eyebrow.  _ Jesper had to make an appointment to see his own father? _ Jules’ dad wasn’t thrilled with his sexual orientation and lifestyle but he still made time to see him when he visited home…

 

Rowan gave Erikson an annoying, wincing expression. “I’m sorry, but unfortunately he had an emergency come up with a client in Winthrop. He left thirty minutes ago.”

 

Jules looked up at Erikson.  _ That’s fucked up. _

 

Rowan continued. “He  _ does _ have a half-hour to spare this evening at the country club before his dinner meeting. If you can be there at 7:00-sharp, I can reschedule you.”

 

Erikson let out an exasperated exhale. “Yeah… fine.”

 

Jules followed the defeated blonde boy through the hallway towards the central portion of the house. They entered a cavernous kitchen and Erikson went straight to the fridge. “You want anything to drink?” he offered.

 

“Um. Sure. Water’s fine,” Jules answered distractedly as he took in the grandeur of his surroundings.

 

“Jesper!?” an elderly Asian woman exclaimed as she entered the room holding a small, blonde child.

 

Erikson’s face immediately brightened. “Xueman!”

 

“Oh, Guāi guāi!” she exclaimed, embracing him with her free arm. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Nǐ hěn gāo!” she exclaimed. “Nǐ èle ma?”

 

“Bù, bù, wǒ méishì,” Erikson replied.

 

Jules choked back an ‘are you fucking serious?’ outburst.  _ Jesper speaks Mandarin?! _

 

“Zhège kě'ài de nánrén shì shéi?” Xueman inquired, looking at Jules.

 

“Oh! Jules, this is Xueman. She was my nanny. She basically raised me and my siblings,” Erikson said, smiling. “Xueman, this is Julian, my partner- uh,  _ business _ partner,” he quickly corrected.

 

“Welcome, pleased to meet you,” Xueman said with a warm, knowing smile.

 

Jules smiled back. “Nice to meet you, too.”

 

She presented Erikson with the blonde toddler she was holding. “You haven’t met Emil, have you?”

 

“Ah… No, I haven’t,” he admitted looking at his young nephew. “You watch Johanna’s kids now?”

 

“Yes, I do. Your sister is very busy; she’s taken over most of your father’s business.”

 

Erikson sighed. “Good for her…”

 

“Well, when Edward gets home from summer camp later today, you must meet him as well. He’s almost five!”

 

“Five?!” Erikson asked with surprise. “It’s been that long already?”

 

“You have not been home in a very long time. You don’t even call me to say hello!” she scolded.

 

“I know… I’m sorry,” Erikson said with a pained expression.

 

Xueman patted the side of Erikson’s face. “It’s all right. I know you have your reasons.”

 

\-----

 

The boys sat nervously across from Erikson’s father as he scrutinized each word of the business proposal before him. Jules tried not to fidget but he was completely uncomfortable in the gaudy country club restaurant filled to the brim with fair-skinned, conceited people wearing their annoyingly preppy navy blue blazers and sweater vests. He was thankful that he had at least put off dying his hair pink until after this trip. But he knew he still stuck out, despite wearing his most conservative suit.

 

“I just don’t know, Jesper…” his father finally spoke. “It’s a lot of money. Are you sure about the competitive market analysis in here?”

 

“Father, I know this is a lot of money up front. The computer technology these days is really driving up the cost of planes, they’re not cheap. But, not many tour companies are out there doing this, especially in Los Angeles. This entire concept has really promising growth potential.” Jules noted how Erikson didn’t even sound like he was speaking to a member of his own family.

His words were more calculated and his enunciation was more articulate. It reminded Jules of when he had searched for and watched all of Erikson’s televised press conferences online. It wasn’t stalking; he only did it once. Or twice. OK… three times. 

 

Jules chimed in to elaborate on Erikson’s point. “We can quickly expand to book weekend shuttles to Malibu to start out. Only two hotels do this right now. And they only offer a helicopter service which is significantly more expensive and far less comfortable.”

 

Mr. Erikson didn’t acknowledge Jules’ comment and continued to study the graph in front of him. He had ignored every point Jules had made during the entire twenty-seven minutes of their business pitch. Why would he decide to listen for the remaining three?

 

“Father, there’s definitely a demand for this. You would see if you just came out.” Erikson cautiously argued. “When is the last time you’ve even been to L.A?”

 

“It’s been ages,” his father answered. “I don’t care for the people,” he added, making eye contact with Jules. Jules tried to brush off the comment and maintain composure for the sake of the task at hand. Mr. Erikson continued, “I’m sorry, Jesper. I’m not confident enough in the market, the plan, your choice of-” He cut off his sentence, glancing at Jules again before continuing, “There are quite a few things that need to be buttoned up in order for me to loan you this amount of money. I’m sorry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some clients in from-”

 

“Dad. Just give me a chance,” Erikson pleaded. It hurt Jules to hear him sound like that. “Even if you can loan us twenty percent for a down payment, I can finance the rest.”

 

“I think you need to come back when you have a more solid team in place,” his father argued.

 

Jules couldn’t hold it in any longer and abruptly stood up from the table. “What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” 

 

Erikson ignored the awkward tension and plowed on. “Dad. I’d need some sort of money to even hire a bigger team… Julian and I just saw an opportunity and-”

 

“I’m not talking about the  _ size  _ of your team, Jesper. I’m talking about integrity. I did  _ not _ raise my son to affiliate with faggots from the third world. I said no. Come back when you have a better plan  _ and team _ in place.”

 

Jules couldn’t tell if it was fury or fear that rendered him speechless. How did people like this still exist in today’s world? Before his brain could assemble a sentence out of the scathing words that swarmed inside his head, Erikson got up from the table and stood beside Jules. He felt Erikson’s cool hand take his. “Goodbye father,” Erikson said.

 

He walked away from the table, pulling Jules, their fingers still intertwined. Jules heard Erikson’s father yell something even more terrible as they quickly moved through the country club, turning heads and cutting between tables. After passing through a hallway of private rooms, they entered a cocktail lounge. Erikson released Jules’ hand and walked straight up to the bar.

 

“Jesper, can we just go?” Jules pleaded.

 

Erikson gripped the side of the bar, trying to blink the rage out of his vision. “I just need a drink.”

 

“Let’s just go back to the hotel.”

 

“And then what? My role in this whole plan is to secure the fucking money for a plane. That’s it. I stood by and let the Garrison sweep Kerberos under the rug. I  _ have _ to make this right. I owe it to Shiro to make this right.  _ This  _ is my part. And I fucked it up, like everything else. Just... let me have one fucking drink so I can relax and think straight. OK?! I need to figure out a plan; I’ll call my brother and sisters tomorrow morning and…” 

 

Jules considered storming out of the building and calling for a cab to the hotel but he’d never seen Erikson so tense and distraught. So, he stayed and drank his vodka tonic in irritated silence while Erikson brainstormed until a perky voice spoke up from behind them. “Jesper?”

 

_ Ugh, now what? _ Jules turned around to a find a girl with strawberry blonde waves, pearls, and an adorable baby bump. “Heather?!” Erikson said in disbelief. Jules held in a snicker as the girl’s name conjured a mental image of the rich girls from his favorite Winona Ryder movie. ‘ _ Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,’ _ Jules quoted to himself.

 

“I thought that was you! Oh my goodness! How are you?” Heather squealed throwing her arms around Erikson. “What brings you here and  _ why  _ on earth didn’t you call me?” she chirped, playfully swatting his shoulder. Her lively eyes glistened as she looked expectantly into his. Jules’ heart sank as he looked over at Erikson. Jules was pretty sure that Jesper never looked at him quite like that. This girl was definitely the one that got away.

 

“Yeah… uh. Sorry. I um… wow. You look great. I didn’t… I didn’t know you were pregnant,” Erikson stuttered. “Sorry, I ah, couldn’t make to the wedding last year.”

 

Heather looked at Erikson with pity. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I know things were crazy for you with the Kerberos mission… I loved seeing you on T.V. all the time, though!”

 

“How’s um…. how’s married life?” Erikson asked, avoiding the subject of the Kerberos mission.

 

“It’s… going well. Brad travels a lot so I’m alone quite often.” Jules watched her smile fade but she quickly recovered. “But… when the baby comes he said he’d try to cut back on all the business trips. So… that’ll be good.” 

 

“That’s great. Congratulations,” Erikson said. 

 

Jules was getting tired of being the third wheel in this conversation so he started to turn back towards the bar. “Jesper, aren’t you going to introduce us?” he heard Heather ask.

 

“Huh? Oh! I’m sorry. Heather this is Julian. Jules, this is Heather. She’s a family friend, we grew up together.” Jules plastered a smile to his tired face while Erikson offered the stool in front of him to Heather. “Here, sit down. Are you here by yourself?” he asked.

 

“Oh, no. My friends and I do dinner once a month. I was just on my way out when I spotted you.”

 

“What a coincidence… I’d offer to buy you a drink but…” Erikson looked down at her bump. 

 

“Well, I was going to save my weekly glass of wine for tomorrow when Brad gets back from Dubai but… this is kind of a special occasion, isn't it? I’ll take a glass of riesling,” she said with a bright smile.

 

“OK,” Erikson smiled back and then turned to Jules. “You having another?” he asked.

 

Jules sighed. “Oh… why the fuck not.”

 

Heather giggled. “I like him, he’s funny.”

 

“I haven’t even said anything, yet,” Jules retorted.

 

“Oh, I can tell. You’re a firecracker.” Heather gave him a mischievous wink.

 

Erikson snorted in agreement. “That he is…” 

 

“So… how do you two know each other?” Heather inquired.

 

Erikson flagged down the bartender while Jules answered on his behalf. “We’re uh, sort of, business partners. We’re starting a new luxury tour company in L.A.”  _ Might as well keep the charade going _ .

 

“Ooh, tell me more,” Heather demanded with enthusiasm. And so, Jules and Erikson pitched a more relaxed and abbreviated version of their business plan for Heather.

 

“I could definitely lend you some money, Jesper,” she offered.

 

“‘Oh... no. I couldn’t accept anything from you. I’ll call my brother and sisters tomorrow and see if they’ll consider helping me out.”

 

“No, I’m serious. I have my own investments on the side that are doing really well, right now. Brad wouldn’t even know about it. I’d love to help you guys get this off the ground; it sounds really interesting,” Heather said. “I can transfer the funds to your account tomorrow.” 

 

“Heather, seriously, it’s OK. I don’t-”

 

“I’m transfering the money first thing, tomorrow morning. I’m not taking no for an answer, mister,” she said, pointing at Erikson. 

 

“Um… wow. OK. Thank you. You really don’t have to do that.”

 

“I want to do it. Now drop it.” Heather then raised her glass. “To your new company. Cheers.” 

 

“Cheers,” Erikson said as the trio clinked glasses. Jules and Erikson traded looks of disbelief.  _ Did that just happen? _

 

“You'll have to send me a picture of the plane!” Heather said as she massaged her belly. She suddenly paused and giggled. “Oh my gosh, the baby has hiccups again.”

 

“How can you tell?” Erikson questioned.

 

She quickly grabbed Erikson’s hand and placed it on the underside of her pregnant belly. “It kind of feels like this funny little flutter,” she described as Erikson leaned in.

 

Jules watched Erikson’s awkwardly confused expression melt into a surprised smile when he felt the tiny spasm of the baby’s hiccups. Erikson laughed and Jules’ heart sank further into his gut. He didn’t think he could take much more of this evening. Jules turned away to order another strong drink so that he might drown this night out of his short-term memory.

 

“Jules! You have to feel this,” Erikson said, snagging Jules’ hand and holding it to Heather’s belly. 

 

_ OK...this is just… weird. Wait!  _ “Oh my god!” Jules gasped. He couldn’t help but smile as he felt the baby squirm and hiccup.

 

“Isn’t that funny? Oh, and here’s one of his feet over here,” she added, moving Jules’ and Erikson’s interlaced hands a few inches up. 

 

“How the hell is this kid comfortable?” Jules joked.

 

“Ugh, and he’s got another six weeks to go,” Heather groaned, releasing their hands. 

 

Erikson nervously ran his hand through his hair and then excused himself. “I’m going to run to the restroom. Jules, put another round on my tab.”

 

“Oh, just cranberry juice for me,” Heather piped up as Erikson walked off. Jules watched her smile fade when he was out of earshot. “How is he?” she abruptly asked Jules.

 

“Um, what do you mean?” Jules asked, completely taken off guard.

 

“I just wanted to know how he’s been the past year. I heard he was friends with the Kerberos pilot that died. Or is  _ still _ alive if you believe all those conspiracy theories. There’s so much crazy stuff in the news these days.”

 

Other than resigning and taking up the uncharacteristic hobby of surfing, Erikson had mourned like any other person. “It was difficult for him but I thought he managed it well, considering it was his best friend.”

 

“Oh.” She sounded oddly relieved. “That’s good… Look, I’m not trying to gossip, I just really worry about Jesper. He struggled with a lot of stress and anxiety back when we were in school together. There was an… incident. I’d feel better knowing that it hasn’t happened again.”

 

Jules narrowed his eyes. “What kind of ‘incident’?”

 

Heather leaned in and whispered to Jules. “He… overdosed. It only happened once and I’m sure it was an accident but…”

 

_ What the fuck? _ “Jesper?! Really? Is that just a rumor you heard?” Jules questioned.

 

Heather’s eyes teared up as she shook her head. “No... I was there at the party. I’m the one who called 9-1-1.” Jules was pretty sure his mouth had dropped open. “You’re sure he’s not on anything anymore?” she asked with wide, worried eyes. “Does he act strange sometimes?”

 

Jules racked his brain but other than being an asshole at least fifty percent of the time they were around each other, nothing really stood out as strange behavior. 

 

“Jules, you didn’t order drinks?” Erikson questioned as he rejoined them.

 

Jules’ brain snapped back to the present and he immediately looked up into Erikson’s eyes. They were steady and focused; clear as day and blue as the sky.  _ Is this girl messing with me?  _ “Uh, sorry, we got sidetracked. Maybe we should just head back and get a nightcap at the hotel.”

 

Heather’s bubbly personality dialed back up. “Oh, are you staying downtown?”

 

“Yeah,” Erikson confirmed.

 

“Do you remember Damian from school? He quit finance a couple years ago and opened the coolest little speak-easy. You  _ have _ to check it out. I’ll text him and tell him you’re stopping by. He’ll be so excited. I wish I could come with you.”

 

Jules groaned inwardly.  _ Please no… _

 

\-----

 

The next thing Jules knew, he was waking up in a fancy hotel room the next morning with the worst hangover he’d had in years. _ What the fuck happened last night?  _ Then, bits and pieces slowly began falling into place. They got kicked out of the country club… He remembered walking back around to the restaurant so that Erikson could send a bottle of champagne over to his father’s table. When his father looked over at them from across the room, Erikson had abruptly grabbed Jules and kissed him while flipping off the entire restaurant. Jules cringed at the memory.  _ Oh my god, why? _

 

Jules’ memories jumped to another bar, where they did shots with more of Erikson’s old classmates. And then to another bar, where Jules danced with a swarm of blue-blooded girls who found Jules to be the most entertaining novelty of the night.  _ Why didn’t we just come back to the hotel after the stupid country club?  _ Jules sat up and held his temples.  _ Ugh, my head. _

 

Erikson was already dressed and awake, sitting on the chaise lounge across from the bed.  “Morning,” Erikson greeted.

 

“Please just put me out my misery and kill me now,” Jules complained, still holding his head. He immediately remembered what Heather had told him last night and kicked himself for the words that had just spilled from his lips.

 

Erikson didn’t seem to notice and just smiled. “I ordered some hangover food for you.” He gestured to the room service tray on the table next to the window overlooking the park. 

 

“We got kicked out of the country club, didn’t we?” Jules asked.

 

Erikson snickered. “Yeah… but it was worth it. The look on my dad’s face was priceless. Plus, this happened.” He tossed his phone to Jules with his bank app open to display his checking account balance.

 

Jules’ blurry eyes focused on the screen and counted at least six digits. He looked at the phone more closely to make sure he wasn’t seeing double. “Holy… Oh my god! How much money did she send you?”

 

“Enough money to buy a brand-new plane outright. We did it.” His smile then faded as he took a deep breath. “Um... Sorry about yesterday… and my dad.”

 

“It's OK. Well, it's not OK but, you know. The uh, ‘third world’ comment was a nice touch.”

 

Erikson cringed and apologized, again. “Ugh, I’m  _ so  _ sorry.” He looked down and stared uncomfortably at his hands. “Um… I’m sure you also heard some crazy stuff about me last night since you met about twenty of my friends from school.” 

 

_ Right… back to that.  _ “Yeah, I heard some... things,” Jules responded.

 

“Like…” Erikson prompted.

 

Jules stalled. “Uh, I heard about the eighth-grade class prank that you instigated. And I heard something about you rowing crew and sabotaging the rival team’s boat before an important regatta… And...”

 

“That’s it?” Erikson asked. “Rich kids love a good scandal; that’s all you heard?”

 

“Well…” Jules hesitated. “I heard something else but I’m sure it was just a rumor.”

 

“No, it happened,” Erikson admitted, point-blank.

 

“But... it was an accident, right?” Jules asked.

 

“No, I fully intended to kill myself. I was nearly successful. The EMS report said I was in cardiac arrest for almost two minutes after they arrived.”

 

_ OK… not sure how to handle this.  _ “Jesper... Why?”

 

“There was just so much pressure from my family and school and- I was miserable. I was tired of being carted around to different doctors because my parents thought I needed more Ritalin, or Adderall, or Xanax.  On top of that, they were pissed that I had brought up applying to the Galaxy Garrison instead of going to the private school they wanted me to attend. My parents didn’t understand that I just wasn’t happy with the life that they wanted for me. I felt trapped. So… I took as many pain meds as I could get my hands on and snorted about three times the amount of coke I normally did. After I recovered in the hospital, I was admitted to an adolescent psych unit for suicidality and substance abuse. So, of course, that made things even worse because my parents were completely embarrassed… I think most of the kids I grew up with think that I was sent away to the Galaxy Garrison for punishment.”

 

Jules’ heart ached. “I’m so sorry, Jesper. Do your friends know? Not these people but like, Woolf and the guys?”

 

“No. Shiro was the only one that knew. I used to have panic attacks the week before I’d have to come back here for the holidays and Shiro would just sit with me and talk me through shit. He’d call me every day when I was back here to check in and make sure I wasn’t having another breakdown.”

 

“He was a good friend,” Jules whispered. “Do you still… You don’t still do any drugs do you?”

 

“No. I couldn’t at the Garrison; we had random drug testing all the time. I almost relapsed after I resigned and didn’t know what to do with myself but… I knew Shiro would’ve been pissed at me so I refrained.”

 

“OK… that’s good to hear.” Jules breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Erikson nodded and twisted his hands. “I’ve been thinking and… I’m sorry about how I’ve been with you. I realize now that I just don’t care about what people think anymore. Especially  _ these _ fucking people,” he said, gesturing toward the window of the hotel room. “I’m happy when I’m around you and… that’s all that should matter. I think I want to try taking this- you and me- more seriously.”

 

Jules’ hangover haze cleared temporarily as his heart rate picked up. That was probably as close as he was going to get to a “will you be my boyfriend” line from this boy. “Jesper…” But Jules’ mind raced back to the look on Erikson’s face when he saw Heather. “I’d like that as well but… I don’t think I’m right for you.”

 

“What?! What do you mean?” Erikson looked hurt.

 

“Jesper, seriously... Think about it. You’re going to want a wife and kids one day. If Heather called you tomorrow and said she wanted to leave Todd or Brad or Chad or- whatever her husband’s name is- what would you honestly want to do?”

 

“I… I’m not sure. I mean, it's Heather… I've always-” he looked down at his hands, knowing the answer wasn't something he wanted to admit and something Jules wouldn't want to hear. “It would never happen, anyway… I don’t know, but I’ve taken you for granted and I want to make it right. I want to try.”

 

“Look, we can't be in a relationship because you feel bad.” Jules swallowed the lump in his throat as the pounding in his head returned. “It's just not a good idea. You were right. I should stay in L.A.”

 

Erikson looked up with pain in his blue eyes. “OK...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: I seriously don’t know shit about Mandarin and just used google translate so feel free to correct me. I am under the impression that guāi guāi loosely means “well-behaved” but in a diminutive and loving way that one might use with a child.
> 
> Moore and Medina up next...


	8. This is my part- Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medina and Moore fly to New York and follow a lead to locate Keith’s mother in Flushing, Queens. Medina and Moore antics ensue but they return home having made a few new friends.

Part 3: Moore and Medina

 

“No special massage!!!” an Asian woman shouted in broken English as the door slammed shut in Medina’s face.

 

“What the-” Medina threw his hands up in the air with frustration. “Why does this keep happening to us?! What the fuck is a ‘special massage’?!”

 

Moore studied the Korean spa’s signage in contemplation while answering Medina’s oblivious question. “I think they’re referring to ‘happy endings’.”

 

“Huh? Oh.  _ Ohhh _ ,” Medina said as everything clicked into place.

 

“That’s why I saw that herbalist down the street this morning. I thought we’d be taken seriously if I had a legitimate referral for acupressure.”

 

Medina paced up and down the street. “That’s the fourth place we got kicked out of, though!”

 

“Well, there’s gotta be a least thirty places in Flushing that offer acupressure and reflexology,” Moore reasoned as he reviewed a list on his tablet. “I guess two guys wandering in and out of Korean massage parlors is a little suspicious. They probably think we’re tourists. Although technically we _are_ tourists since we haven’t lived here in a long time.”

 

“Tourists? Tourists?!” Medina started. “Oh  _ hell _ no! I was born here! I’ma march my ass back in there and-” 

 

Moore grabbed Medina’s arm. “Please just stop. You’ll make things worse.”

 

Medina reluctantly stopped and crossed his arms. “All right, then. What next, fearless leader?”

 

“I’m not the leader,” Moore muttered as he reread the documents he’d downloaded from the Garrison servers. He was desperately trying not to feel disappointed quite yet. He really shouldn't have gotten his hopes up at all; this was merely one of four leads the Garrison had on Gwansun Lee. They hypothesized that she could also be living off the grid in Montana or Indonesia, or living under the radar in South Korea. New York City had simply been convenient for the boys to begin their search.

 

Moore quickly felt overwhelmed as he calculated the odds of actually finding this woman in their current location. His worrying mind began spiraling out of control as he tried to decide on their next step. There was still so much ground to cover.  _ All I can do is focus on what I’m doing right now,  _ he told himself. But Moore panicked again as he thought about the amount of time they had already wasted at the four previous spas. Their flight back to Arizona was tomorrow afternoon.  _ At this rate, we'll be lucky to get to half the locations on this list... We don’t have enough time. This is my part of the plan. I have to do this and I don’t even know if I have enough time...  _ Moore paused and took a deep breath.  _ Just focus on this. Everything will fall into place. Patience yields focus.  _ His panic quickly dissipated. He smiled to himself.  _ Thanks, Shiro. _

 

“OK. Let’s try one more place and then we’ll break for lunch before tackling the other side of Main Street,” Moore said with more purpose than he would have had three minutes earlier. He looked at his list of flagged Korean spas offering reflexology or acupressure. “Let’s try Number One Garden Spa next,” he said.

 

“Take out the word ‘spa’ and it sounds like the Chinese restaurant across from my mom’s building,” Medina commented while they crossed the street. “All those take-out places have the same names. They’re all like, number one, evergreen, phoenix, pagoda, garden.” 

 

Moore snickered. At least he had Medina for entertainment purposes if nothing else. “Don’t forget the word golden.”

 

“How could I forget? Number one,  _ golden _ , evergreen, phoenix, pagoda, garden,” Medina recited, laughing.

 

“Buffet,” Moore added.

 

“Buffet! Genius. I’m opening a restaurant with that exact name,” he joked as they approached their next destination. 

 

The boys entered Number One Garden Spa and walked up to the small desk at the front. A middle-aged Asian woman with glasses and short, gray hair looked up.

 

“Um… Hi,” Moore began, “I have this referral from Doctor Son for my chronic knee pain. He recommended I get acupressure.”

 

The woman inspected the doctor’s Korean scribbles on the paper that Moore had handed her. She looked up at Moore and then over to Medina with suspicion. “No special massage!” she barked.

 

“No, no, no. We’re not looking for special massage. He recommended Gwansun Lee for acupressure but he couldn’t remember where she worked,” Moore lied. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

 

“You don’t want special massage?” the woman asked, narrowing her eyes.

 

“No. No special massage,” Moore confirmed.

 

The woman studied the two boys some more. “I.D.” she demanded.

 

Moore dug his wallet out of his pocket and handed over his Arizona state driver’s license. She scanned his information into the computer. “You, too!” she shouted at Medina.

 

“Oh, I don't need any acupuncture aromatherapy stuff. I'm just here to make sure he gets home safely. He gets lost easily,” Medina said, patting Moore's head. 

 

_ I'm going to kill him later. _

 

“If you go back with him then I need I.D,” she said.

 

Medina begrudgingly handed over his license for her to scan. She then stood from the desk. “Room number three,” she said, pointing towards a narrow corridor behind the desk.

 

Moore’s adrenaline surged with optimism. “Oh, OK, thank you. Thank you very much. Is Gwansun here?”

 

The woman just gestured towards the hallway. “Room number three!” she shouted.

 

“Ay, dios,” Medina complained once they’d entered their assigned room, “I’ve been yelled at by way too many Asian women today.”

 

Moore sat on the massage table, nervously shaking his foot. “Medina, just stay quiet and let me do the talking, OK?”

 

“Sure thing, boss,” Medina said sarcastically.

 

Moore’s heart raced as he thought about the potential scenarios that could play out.  _ What if she’s here? What if she doesn’t believe us?  _ His palms started feeling sweaty and his foot shook faster.  _ What if she's not even here? _

 

“Dude, you gotta chill the fuck out,” Medina said, interrupting Moore’s internal rambling.

 

“I’m fine!” Moore snapped. He hopped off the table and leaned against the counter beside Medina while they waited.

 

The boys’ heads snapped to the door when they heard the hinges creak open.  _ Oh, shit. Will she look like Keith? Will she look like an alien? Will she look like- _

 

A black girl with long, delicate braids, about Moore and Medina’s age, entered the room.  _ Not what I was expecting, _ Moore thought to himself. She was followed by another middle-aged Asian woman who remained standing in the doorway.

 

“Who are you?” The first girl’s harsh tone was softened by a French-Creole accent. An intoxicating, French-Creole accent.  _ Hatian,  _ Moore quickly noted. 

 

His heart nervously skipped a beat as he tried to speak intelligibly to the gorgeous person standing before him. “Um… I gave my ID to the woman at the front. Or do you need me to repeat my name and date of birth as patient identifiers? Sorry, I uh-”

 

The girl quickly pulled out a knife, lunged forward, and held the blade to Moore’s throat. In his peripheral vision, he watched Medina freeze and slowly hold up his hands.  _ The other woman must have a gun. _ “Don’t make me repeat myself. Who are you? You work for the Garrison!” she yelled.

 

_ Oh fuck.  _ “N- no. I- I don’t,” Moore stuttered.

 

“Don't lie to me,” she warned.

 

“I swear to you, I don't work for the Garrison.”

 

“No… but he does,” she said, sliding her gaze over to Medina. Moore heard Medina swear under his breath.  He then looked past the Hatian girl and saw the pistol in the other woman’s hands, aimed at Medina.

 

“He’s with me!” Moore shouted in panic. “I was discharged from the Garrison over a year ago, I’ve been hacking them ever since. He’s my guy on the inside. We haven't been sent by the Garrison. We’re just looking for Gwansun!”

 

“What do you want with her?” the girl seethed.

 

_ She knows her, _ Moore noted. “We want to help.”

 

“Bullshit! You’re all the same, fucking Garrison scum!” she spat. “Let me see your Garrison tags, scum,” she said addressing Medina.

 

Moore attempted to divert her attention. “No! Look, I-”

 

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not speaking to you!” the girl shouted.

 

Medina finally piped up, still holding his hands in the air. “Yeah, Moore. Shut the fuck up.”

 

“No, just hear me out-”

 

The girl’s eyes filled with rage as she applied a little more force with the blade. Moore thought he felt a small trickle of blood as she got in his face. Despite the fury in her expression, she was stunningly beautiful. Moore couldn’t explain his mixed-up feelings in this intense moment. “You best listen to your friend or I will  _ fuck _ you up!” she threatened.

 

“Uh… I think I might like that,” Moore admitted without realizing he’d spoken aloud. “What’s your name?”

 

In his periphery, Moore watched Medina look over and gesture wildly. “What the fuck, dude?!” he said between his teeth.

 

The girl furrowed her brow and looked back at Medina. “What is wrong with him?” she asked, nodding towards Moore.

 

“I… think he hit his head,” Medina answered nervously.

 

The girl studied Moore carefully with her intense eyes. Up close, he could see that her irises had the same, unique purple hue as Keith’s. “No, you’re just... very beautiful.” Moore cursed himself for a) saying something emotionally incriminating out loud, again, and b) for his complete and utter lack of confidence and charm.  _ I have no game. I should’ve brought Woolf, _ he thought to himself.

 

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, scum,” she said.

 

Moore nervously continued, trying to remedy what his hormones kept fucking up. “Your eyes are purple. Are you Galra?” Moore blurted. A sudden look of fear crossed her eyes but she quickly recovered with an impatient snarl. “We want to help. We know about the Garrison’s imprisonment camps. We… We know Keith Kogane.” The girl’s eyes widened with recognition of the name so Moore kept going. “I think he’s related to Gwansun. Is he her son? Do you know where she is?!”

 

“Keith?” she asked. “You know her son?” Her grip on the knife faltered as she looked back at her colleague.

 

Moore felt the slightest bit of relief; he’d finally gotten through. “Yes. He was in flight school at the Garrison. He’s missing now, but I have reason to believe that he’s associated with Voltron. Do you know what that is? Do you know where Gwansun is?! Is she here?”

 

The dark-skinned girl lowered her weapon. “You are too late.”

 

Medina piped up again, “Wait… what?”

 

“Too late for what?!” Moore cried.

 

“She was taken from her home, two days ago.”

 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!  _ “By who?!” Moore asked.

 

“You tell me, Garrison boy. I told her she needed to sneak out of the country because the Garrison knew too much. But she is very stubborn.”

 

Medina snorted. “Must run in the family,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“She showed me pictures but I have never met her boy,” the girl said. “Poor thing… She had to leave him when he was young, but it was the only option to keep him safe.” 

 

“Do you think the Garrison took her?” Moore asked. “I have a map of the Galra Imprisonment Camps. We can look for her.”

 

“Where did you get the map from?!” the girl inquired with distrust. “We’ve been monitoring the Garrison for years and have never found it.”

 

“I have… um… another inside source. It’s only maintained as a hardcopy in the basement archives,” Moore answered.

 

Medina looked back to Moore. “You have _another_ person on the inside? Who is it?”

 

“Not right now, Medina.” Moore could sense his friend’s irritation. 

 

“Do you have the map with you?” the girl asked.

 

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Moore answered as he fumbled with the contents of his pockets, trying to locate the folded photocopy. “Uh, the quality isn’t great because it’s a copy of a copy but… based on the topography, we think this area is located in the desert, about forty kilometers north of the Garrison. We’re looking into securing a plane to travel back and forth to investigate further,” he said as he unfolded the worn paper. The girl snatched the map and studied it. “We’re with you,” Moore continued. “The Garrison is against us; they have wronged us and our close friends and we don’t think they're aligned with the planet’s best interests.”

 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” the girl instructed, signaling the other woman to hold her position. She quickly slipped out the door with the map and returned moments later. She whispered to the woman at the door who then lowered her gun and left her post. The dark-skinned girl pushed the map into Moore’s chest and then slapped a large,dated-looking mobile phone into his hand. “This is a satellite phone; we will be in contact. I suggest you get out of here quickly. The city is still crawling with Garrison spies.” She turned to exit the room.

 

Moore stared at the boxy phone. “Wait! What’s your name? Will  _ you _ contact us or will someone else?”

 

“My name is Lourdes. I will contact you.”

 

“OK. Um… thank you?” Moore waved as she walked out the door. “Call me!”

 

Lourdes turned and gave Moore a smirk. And then she disappeared into the network of hallways behind room number three.

 

\-----

 

Medina started letting it out once they were two blocks away. “Dude, I know I don’t usually adhere to these rules but… there’s a right time and a wrong time for everything. And  _ that _ ?! That right there?! That was the  _ WRONG _ time to try picking up a girl, dude! Like, what the  _ fuck _ ?!”

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. She’s like… the girl of my dreams,” Moore answered distractedly.

 

“Dude, you were in fucking lala land while she was holding a knife to your throat! I get if you’ve got some sort of weird dominatrix fetish or whatever, that’s cool. But like, not when angry-girl-you’ve-never-met-before-and might-be-an-alien is threatening your life! I almost pissed my pants three times on  _ your _ behalf...” Moore rolled his eyes as Medina continued his diatribe. “... but you know. Instead of a phone number, you just got an entire fucking phone. I guess that’s a win.  A’ight, girl, call me… on the phone you just loaned me,” Medina mocked. “Just wait, she’s gonna send your ass a fucking phone bill.”

 

“Medina! Just…” Sometimes Moore wished Medina had batteries so that he could yank them out when he needed him to shut the hell up. 

 

“Oh, and another thing… Who’s your source? Who’s the other inside guy? Because, I gotta tell you, only senior officers have access to the archives right now. And I don’t trust a single, fucking one of them. What if they caught on and that’s why Keith’s mom is missing?! Why are you keeping shit from us?!”

 

Moore immediately felt guilty. What if Rivali had looked into the map himself and had done additional research? What if Rivali was actually two steps ahead of them?  _ There’s no way, _ he told himself _. Why would he have helped Celine?  _ Moore had just trusted that Rivali, the old Rivali, the one who’d mentored Shiro and honed his talents to make him the greatest pilot in Garrison history, was still good deep down. He still cared about what had happened to Shiro. And Moore knew he’d had seen the security camera footage. He’d seen the disturbing robotic prosthesis, the shock of white hair, and the scar. “It’s Rivali,” Moore admitted quietly.

 

Medina stopped in his tracks. “Are you fucking serious? Tell me you’re fucking joking right now.”

 

Moore turned around to face a fuming Medina. “He told Celine that he was having weird nightmares about Shiro. I needed someone with a lot to lose and the right credentials to get me some sensitive information. So I jumped on the opportunity. He knows he’s being monitored, anyway. If anything, he’s scared shitless. There’s no way he’s up to anything. I would know.”

 

“That’s some sound fucking logic, Wes. Really? You don’t know what I fucking know. OK?! When Shiro was pronounced dead, Rivali did some messed-up shit. That’s all I’m going to say. I don’t trust him!! And neither should you.”

 

“How do you even know what happened? You weren’t there!! You weren't there for the media onslaught and the pilot error nonsense and the fucking memorial service!” Moore yelled back. He winced, immediately regretting what he’d just said.

 

“Like that was my fault?! Sorry, I was on fucking Mars!!” Medina was livid at this point. “My debriefing when I got back was, mission was a success and by the way, your friend is dead and the rest of your friends left. Welcome back-” Medina stopped, knowing that he was drawing way too much attention to himself. He continued in a low voice, “I know because Rivali told me. He wanted to rub it in. I don’t trust him.”

 

A heavy weight pressed down on Moore’s chest as he cautiously watched the people walking past them. A vivid memory shot to the forefront of his mind; the night that Keith had shown up at Shiro’s door on the verge of tears. Rivali had all but forced himself on Keith. But once Shiro was out of the picture for good, after the Kerberos mission failure… Moore didn’t want to assume the worst but he couldn’t help it. Medina wouldn’t be this adamant for nothing... He kicked himself for not consulting the guys before reaching out to the senior officer. 

 

Medina looked around for a cab and let out an exaggerated huff. “Let’s just get to the airport and see if we can get on an earlier flight. If we go grab our bags now, we can probably be at LaGuardia by noon.”

 

“We’re flying out of Newark,” Moore tried to say without cringing. Medina was not going to be happy.

 

“NEWARK?! We have to go all the way to New fucking Jersey?! That’ll take another hour, at least. Why wouldn’t you do the return flight out of LaGuardia? Oh my god, you are the worst New Yorker ever,” he resumed ranting.

 

“It was the cheapest option,” Moore defended. “And I’m not a New Yorker; we only lived here for three years before we moved back to Tennessee.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind next time I let you handle travel arrangements.”

 

\-----

 

Moore and Medina were able to catch an earlier flight but had to layover in Indianapolis. They slowly advanced down the jet bridge for their second flight of the day and then located their seats on the plane. A young, teen-aged girl was blocking their row as she struggled to heave her luggage into the overhead bin. 

 

“You mind if I help?” Medina offered.

 

“Oh, thank you. My mom kept telling me that I packed too much stuff,” the young girl said.

 

“Jesus! Is there a dead body in here?” Medina joked as he lifted the large duffel and shoved it into the overhead compartment. “Am I like, an accessory to a murder now that I’ve helped you?”

 

The girl laughed and then took her seat next to the window. Medina re-checked his ticket. “Dude you gave me the middle seat again?!” he complained to Moore.

 

“I told you, next time you can have the distinct honor of booking our airfare,” Moore replied with irritation. He sat down and immediately opened a book to avoid talking to Medina. He also needed the distraction to rest his racing mind. Hopefully Gwansun was safe. Hopefully Erikson had gotten enough money to buy a plane. Hopefully Celine and Woolf had made sufficient progress on the satellite. Hopefully he hadn't made a complete idiot of himself in front of Lourdes.  _ What a beautiful name _ .

 

Medina looked beyond the young girl and out the window. He and the girl laughed as they watched one of the bag handlers drop someone's luggage. The girl turned to Medina. “ _ That’s _ why I carried on.”

 

“I hope that person doesn’t have anything important in there, jeez,” Medina commented.

 

“Oh my god, he did it again!” the girl pointed and laughed.

 

“Wow, I’m glad I didn’t check my shit either.” The girl responded to Medina with an amused snicker as she continued to look out the window. “So, is Arizona your last stop?” Medina asked to make conversation.

 

“Um, yeah. It is. I’m visiting my dad for a week.”

 

“Cool. Any plans?”

 

“We might do the Grand Canyon or something, but I’m probably just going to be chilling by the pool at his condo while he works. I’m just looking forward to getting away from my mom and stepfamily. Although my dad will drive me crazy, too. Give it a few hours.”

 

“Yeah, parents do that.”

 

“It’s annoying, especially with my dad. He tries to be the cool parent because he’s never around. But once he’s around for even a single day, he gets all overprotective and is constantly telling me what to do,” the girl complained as the plane began to taxi.

 

“He’s just like that because he cares,” Medina said. “My fianc ée has a boy, he’s five, and I’m just getting the hang of doing all the dad stuff but it’s hard. It's downright terrifying sometimes.”

 

“Oh my god, being a parent is terrifying? You're overreacting. Just like my dad. Parents need to relax and leave their kids alone once in a while,” the teenager griped.

 

“I wish I could. But like, kids in general are constantly trying to hurt themselves. It’s maddening.”

 

“Oh, whatever,” the girl laughed.

 

“I’m serious. You set a baby on the bed and look away for a second and they’re trying to roll off the side. As soon as kids start walking, they head straight for the stairs. You tell them to stop climbing shit, they do it anyway and fall. You tell them to stay away from the street, they run towards it. You tell them to not eat the crayons, they eat the fucking crayons. I can’t imagine having a kid  _ your  _ age. I don’t even want to know what  _ you _ get into,” Medina joked, pointing at the girl while she giggled at his animated rant.

 

“I’m not that bad,” the girl said in her defense. “I’m pretty boring compared to the girls in my grade that smoke pot and sneak out at night to meet up with boys.”

 

“If my fianc ée wants another kid, I hope it’s not a girl. I can’t handle that shit,” Medina said, holding his head while the girl laughed at him.

 

“Dude, parents stress over the dumbest shit, though,” she griped. 

 

“I told you! We’ll stop worrying when you stop putting yourself in harm’s way every three minutes. We just want you to be safe-”

 

“At the expense of my happiness and mental well-being,” the girl interrupted.

 

“All I’m saying is, go easy on your old man. OK? Being a dad is crazy-stressful.”

 

The girl groaned. “He needs to go easy on me, too, but… I’ll try.”

 

\-----

 

As they deplaned, Medina helped the girl with her insanely heavy bag and offered to carry it through the airport since it didn’t have wheels. “Did you bribe someone to get this thing through security?” Medina continued tormenting the girl about her baggage.

 

“I’ll get one of those push-cart things,” the girl offered.

 

“It’s fine, I’m just messing with you,” Medina said. “You’ll probably run me over with the stupid cart, anyway,” he teased.

 

The girl feigned offense and punched Medina in the shoulder. “Well, just for that comment, I might have to.”

 

Moore walked in front and chuckled as he listened to the two unlikely acquaintances joke around. He checked the time on his phone and decided to call Woolf to let him know that they had caught the earlier flight out of New York.

 

“Hey!” Woolf answered.

 

“Hey, just wanted to let you know, we wound up catching that flight I told you about, so we’ll be back at Medina’s in an hour or so.”

 

“Oh, OK. We probably won’t be home by then,” Woolf responded.

 

_ That’s… weird.  _ “Uh, aren’t you guys working on the satellite?”

 

“Yeah, we have been but Celine’s graduation was today. We’re packing up some things at her dorm and then grabbing dinner with her parents.”

 

“You’re… meeting her parents for dinner?” Moore questioned.

 

“Yeah. They’re really awesome!” Woolf answered enthusiastically.

 

“OK… enjoy... We’ll catch up in the A.M. if we miss you.” Moore ended the call and wondered what the hell Woolf and Celine were up to. He looked up from his phone and slowed his pace as he was met with another surprise: the face of a familiar senior officer waiting in baggage claim. Moore decided to avoid eye contact.  _ I wonder why he’s here. Maybe Medina’s right, he knows something. _

 

“Hey, dad!” Medina’s new friend called from behind.  _ Oh... shit.  _ Moore whipped his head around to look at Medina who looked equally as shocked.

 

The teen-aged girl ran past the boys and up to Rivali, her dad. He hugged his daughter but eyed Medina suspiciously as he approached with her bag.

 

“Here you go, Papi,” Medina said, nonchalantly handing over the bag.

 

Rivali grabbed the handle and immediately dropped it due to its weight. “Brianna, what the hell is in here? I told you you didn’t need to bring twenty pairs of shoes.”

 

“Bri,  _ now _ you can go get one of those luggage carts. You don’t want to give your old man a hernia,” Medina said smugly.

 

Rivali heaved the bag off the floor and rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.” He looked warily between Moore and Medina.

 

“Dad, didn't you have a hernia a while back?” Rival’s daughter asked.

 

“It was a herniated  _ disc _ , Brianna. Not a hernia,” Rivali corrected, avoiding Medina’s gaze and, now enormous, shit-eating grin.

 

“Oh. Sounds the same. Whatever. Welp, thanks for the help, guys,” Brianna said, waving goodbye as the boys continued towards the exit.

 

Moore was a little surprised when his friend turned back around once they got to the door. “Remember to go easy on him,” Medina called to Brianna.

 

She acted annoyed but smiled. “I will,” she called back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Medina...
> 
> thank you all for reading <3


	9. Go get him

She was becoming accustomed to her new surroundings: the stark, sterile cell and the dim maze of shipping containers that emptied out into large common rooms with dirt walls and no windows. She saw several prisoners that she recognized. But did they recognize her? Probably not anymore. She’d given up a long time ago. She was tired of fighting. Tired of running. She’d finally accepted the inevitability of her capture and refused to uproot her life and change her identity once more. Her mind jumped to the brief premonition she’d had minutes before the Garrison soldiers had burst through her door; it was a hazy vision of unmarked olive-drab uniforms stealthily running up the emergency stairwell of her building.

 

Even if she could convince her people of who she was, even if she could inspire them to follow her, even if she could incite a rebellion and escape, they’d just be stranded in the middle of the desert. And the nearest civilization was the headquarters of the government organization that had been rounding up her people for the past fifteen years.

 

The other problem was that the majority of the prisoners didn’t even know they were part alien. There were so many who were imprisoned and seemed to have no idea as to why. Maybe that was partially the fault of the Knowledge Holders. They had convinced their people generations ago to concoct believable stories of their ancestry, where they had emigrated from, what industry they worked in or what family business they had maintained; an elaborate lie to keep future generations safe from knowing who and what they really were.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted as an officer approached her cell, opened the door, and flipped on the blinding fluorescent lights. She rolled her eyes and sighed. Another inept Garrison officer. Another fucking interrogation. They always blundered through the questions they were told to ask by their superiors. She could feel their apprehension radiating from their bodies; it was a weak and uneasy energy that formed erratic ripples in the air particles around her. Pure earthlings were fascinatingly weak, ignorant, and awkward, particularly the males. Oh well, at least it was entertaining to toy with these men and turn their insecurities against them. She stood up and pulled her long black hair into a ponytail. She shot the young officer an intimidating look with her hate-filled purple eyes and felt the trembling ripples of his fear break against her. She smirked. She was going to rip this one apart.

 

\-----

 

Celine’s phone pinged a notification while she worked in the garage. 

 

Mom: Have you had any more dates with that cute boy?

 

_ Oh my god, mom.  _ Celine sighed and typed back: No… He’s been really busy at work. Just texted a few times. And it wasn’t a date.

 

Mom: If you say so. Don’t be afraid to be assertive. That’s how I got Dad. 

 

Celine: Mom! TMI!

 

Mom: I’m just saying, don’t let him get away. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of his cute butt anyway.

 

Celine: MOM!! INAPPROPRIATE!!!!

 

Celine shook her head as she pocketed her phone. She then cracked her knuckles and reached across the workbench to plug in her soldering iron. Her mom’s texts weren’t helping after a very strange two weeks; the group had generally fallen into a funk. Moore was wound tighter than usual and was consumed with searching the Garrison servers for any sort of detail on Gwansun’s whereabouts or imprisonment. He always emerged from the depths of the high security servers empty-handed. And the satellite phone had remained dead silent the entire time. 

 

Medina returned home each night delivering more rumors regarding the Kerberos investigative team, putting the group more on edge. The timeline, the size of the crew, the potential candidates; one wrong team member could make a universe of a difference.

 

No one really knew what had happened with Jules but it appeared that Erikson was attempting to distract himself with a series of one-night stands. He stayed out incredibly late almost every night and slept most of the day. He usually emerged from his room late in the afternoon only to disappear again that night. At least during the few hours of the day that he was conscious, he would help Celine in the garage or research the prop planes for sale in the vicinity despite his hangover and sullen mood.

 

Woolf’s company had finished the prototype for their private client from Hong Kong. Unfortunately the business tycoon preferred Woolf to the directors of sales and product development, so Woolf had no choice but to personally fly through the sims with the client and work through the Fourth of July weekend. He finally had booked a flight back for this evening but was delayed due to weather.

 

Celine tried to focus on her work but it felt like the group was losing steam and unraveling quickly. Woolf wasn’t there to be the optimistic, level-headed person of the group. Erikson’s leadership was faltering. And Jules wasn’t there to make light of the situation with his sarcastic humor. Celine hoped that Woolf’s presence would help bring the group’s mood back up even though she was a bit nervous about seeing him again. Not that cuddling with her on the couch and charming the shit out of her parents hadn’t meant anything, but she felt unsure of where exactly they’d left off. 

 

Celine grumbled when her phone chimed again.  _ Mom… drop it, _ she thought to herself. But it wasn’t her mother. 

 

Woolf: I’m going crazy sitting in this airport. How are things there?

 

Celine shot a selfie of herself looking annoyed holding the soldering iron, making sure to capture Medina and Erikson in the background. They were arguing over the cabin size dimensions of the planes available on the market while measuring the various parts of the satellite Celine had assembled.

 

Woolf replied with a selfie of himself looking extremely bored with his mouth hanging open, sitting at a very crowded gate. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him even though he wasn’t there in person yet.

 

Celine: Yeah, but you’d rather be here?? 

 

She giggled as she studied Woolf’s picture some more and didn’t realize how big the grin on her face was until Erikson piped up from across the garage. “You got a boyfriend we don't know about?”

 

Celine corrected her facial expression to her more typical indifferent façade. “No…”

 

Erikson looked at her with skepticism in his tired eyes. “You sure?”

 

Celine’s phone pinged again and she couldn’t help but smiling as she read the response.

 

Woolf: I’d much rather be there.

 

Of course, Medina couldn’t be left out of  _ this _ conversation. “Hey! No sexting in my garage!” he joked.

 

Celine tried laughing off her embarrassment. “Ew!! I’m not sexting in your garage!”

 

Medina crossed his arms. “Seriously, am I going to approve of this guy? He needs get his ass over here for an interview. We all need to meet him.”

 

Erikson chuckled. “Can I answer the door holding a shotgun when he comes over?”

 

Celine covered her face with her hands. She’d gone from being an only child to having an entourage of older brothers in a matter of months. “Oh. My. God! I don’t have a boyfriend, guys, OK?” She didn’t want to be overconfident and get ahead of herself, but he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

 

Medina shook his head. “I’m not buying it,” he teased.

 

Luckily Erikson’s phone chimed a notification to distract him from pestering her for more information. Medina looked over at Erikson. “You going out again?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Well, later,” he answered, staring at his phone.

 

Medina leaned in to whisper to Erikson. Celine turned around to pretend she wasn’t listening. “Dude, you OK? You look like you need to just stay in and sleep.”

 

“I’m fine,” he answered flatly. “I’ll stay to help watch Shawn for a bit, don’t worry.”

 

“Moore and Celine can handle baby-sitting, I don’t care about that. I’m just… a little concerned.”

 

“I said I’m fine,” Erikson snapped. “Now, hold that piece up so I can measure it.”

 

\-----

 

Celine, Erikson, and Moore had offered to watch Shawn so that Medina and Nadia could have a date night. Seated around the kitchen table playing Candyland with the five-year-old boy, they were quite an amusing scene. Shawn was more than excited, having three adults at his disposal to do whatever he wanted. Erikson was mildly annoyed with his position on the board and probably life in general. Moore was looking smug and was definitely up to something, and Celine was just along for the ride. Shawn cheered when he flipped over yet another picture card. “I got the ice cream card!!” 

 

Erikson looked across the table at Moore with suspicion. “You stacked the deck, didn’t you?”

 

Moore shushed Erikson and whispered, “The faster he wins, the faster we can be done with this game.” Then, with a mischievous smirk, he added, “Your turn, Erikson.”

 

Celine and Moore snickered as Erikson turned over a single green card that advanced his already-in-last-place gingerbread man a mere two spaces. “This is bullshit. Don’t repeat that, Shawn.”

 

“You’re just bad at Candyland,” Moore teased.

 

“What? No. There’s no strategy to this stupid game!” Erikson complained. “Shawn, do you want to play something else after this?”

 

“Um… can we play memory?”

 

“Ugh, mine doesn’t work that well anymore, but sure,” Erikson replied as he checked the time on his phone. “Actually, I’m taking off soon, you guys good?”

 

Moore and Celine nodded while trading looks of concern. “Uh, yeah. Don’t forget we’re test-flying planes tomorrow… I guess try to be home and… sober by then,” Moore replied as Erikson got ready to leave.

 

\-----

 

The house was dark and quiet when Celine heard Woolf arrive around 1:00 AM. She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the fact that the boy she had been obsessing over was in the next room, likely getting ready to crash on the couch. She forced herself to lie in bed for at least ten minutes before tiptoeing through the living room towards the kitchen to “get a glass of water.”

 

Moore was asleep on his usual couch and Woolf was lying on the other but still awake and reading something on his phone. He silently waved to Celine as she passed and so she stopped and knelt next to the couch. 

 

“Hey, you,” he whispered with a grin.

 

“Hi,” she whispered back. “You finally got in. You must be exhausted.” 

 

“Yeah, all this flying is getting old.”

 

Celine pretended to act offended. “I thought you said you’d rather be here.”

 

“I do, I just wish that my job was closer. Luckily they’re letting me take some extra time off for working last weekend.”

 

“Cool, that’ll be nice... We missed you.”  _ I missed you.  _ “Everyone’s kinda been on edge and in weird moods and stuff around here.”

 

“Yeah, I heard. You OK?” he asked, placing his hand lightly on hers.

 

“I’m fine. I’m…”  _ Just say something.  _ “I’m... glad you’re here.”  _ So fucking lame. _

 

Woolf smiled. “I’m glad I’m here, too.” He lifted the light-weight blanket that covered him as an invitation for Celine. Her heart flipped in her chest as she crawled onto the couch and lay alongside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Celine tried to think of something more to say to distract from the sensation of his bare chest pressed to her back, but words escaped her.

 

“Satellite looks good, at least the pictures you sent,” Woolf murmured. “I got the bigger solar panel you wanted to try.”

 

Celine snickered. “Mmm, big solar panels… You sure know the way to a girl’s heart.”

 

Woolf buried his face in Celine’s hair to stifle his laughter.

 

Moore stirred from the couch to complain. “Hey guys? I know you’re all cute, whispering and cuddling over there, but I was actually asleep.” He attempted to emphasize his annoyance by launching his pillow at Woolf’s head. “Wait… I need that back.”

 

Celine picked the pillow up off of Woolf and tossed it back to Moore while giggling. She then sat up and pulled Woolf by the hand to follow her to the guest room that she generally occupied.

 

She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at Woolf, adorably sleepy and shirtless, wearing lounge pants. He remained standing in the doorway, probably to keep a “safe and respectable” distance given the situation; Celine was much younger, looking up at him expectantly from the bed, and he was much older, experienced, and half-undressed. Her eyes then focused on the simple black tattoo inscribed across his pectoral. 

 

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” she commented. 

 

“It’s the equation for the hyperbolic trajectory to exit Earth’s atmosphere. I’m sure you’ve seen it before.”

 

Celine furrowed her brow as she squinted at the equation and shrugged. “I probably learned it in one of my basic engineering classes but I only needed to know Navier-Stokes and all that aerodynamic stuff for aircraft specs.”

 

Woolf looked down and smiled. “Uh, I meant that... my brother has the same tattoo. We got them together. You never saw his?” he probed.

 

Celine flushed as she briefly contemplated her answer. “We… didn’t get that far.”  _ Was that a confession or permission?  _ Celine couldn’t tell in her emotionally charged state.

 

“Oh,” Woolf nodded, absorbing that small bit of information. 

 

“He told you otherwise?” Celine questioned, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No…No, I just... assumed. Um, anyway, I’m ridiculously tired and not much company right now. I really need to go to sleep,” he said, approaching the bed. 

 

Celine moved closer to the pillows and lay down on the mattress as he neared, hoping he would climb in next to her and hold her like he had on the couch. But instead he pulled the covers over her and placed the most innocuous kiss on her cheek. “Good night,” he whispered.

 

\-----

 

Celine had spent way too long contemplating her outfit for the day. She wondered if the floral sundress with cutouts along the waistline was too obvious. Normally her uniform for around the house was a loose-fitting tee and ripped jean shorts if not her mechanic’s coveralls. Keith had always made fun of her for changing the way she dressed when she was going to encounter a boy she liked. Whatever... Moore already knew something was up. As always. That boy was almost annoyingly perceptive sometimes. She couldn’t sneak shit past him.  _ Sundress it is. _

 

When Celine finally emerged from her room, she found the boys, minus Erikson, huddled in silence around the kitchen table. 

 

“It’s weird they issued this statement on a Saturday,” Moore commented as he tapped away on his computer. “They’re really rushing.”

 

“This is so fucked up,” Medina said, holding his head in his hands. “I knew this was gonna fucking happen.” Woolf just sat quietly as he studied something on Medina’s Garrison-issued tablet.

 

“Is everything cool, guys?” Celine asked.

 

Moore threw his glasses down and rubbed his eyes. “Uh... not really. The Garrison forewent a navigation challenge and just announced the commander and pilot for the next Kerberos mission. Good ol’ Rivali is  _ both _ so that they can save money on salaries and bring two low-ranking and, most likely, easily influenced investigative scientists.”

 

Celine wasn’t sure what to think. “Well… he helped me, though. Maybe this is good?” she weakly offered.

 

“We’re not sure what side he’s on right now. All we know is that he does whatever it takes to get ahead. And Administrator Adisa is the mission control commander this time around,” Moore added. “Of course the press is singing his praises for taking matters into his own hands. No one suspects that he’s a corrupt piece of shit.”

 

Celine went cold at the mention of Adisa, recalling the way Rivali had uttered the name as he reprogrammed her ID. “Well… fuck,” she said just as Erikson walked through the front door. His hair was a mess and he looked tired, as was usual for the past two weeks.

 

He entered the living room and held his hand up to stop Moore from saying anything. “I didn’t drink that much, OK? I’ll take a quick nap and we’ll head out.” He kicked off his shoes and hung the hoodie he was holding on the doorknob of Celine’s bedroom door. He nodded hello to Woolf and then sulked up the stairs.

 

Moore huffed in irritation. “I’ve fucking had it with his shit. Woolf, you lived with him. Is this normal behavior when he goes through a- whatever it is that happened with Jules?”

 

“Not really,” Woolf answered.

 

Celine walked over to her bedroom. “Ugh, he always leaves his stupid hoodie here,” she complained, snatching the hoodie off of the doorknob. She tossed it onto the couch and an unmarked prescription bottle fell out of the pocket and onto the floor. The pills rattled inside the amber plastic container.

 

“What is that?” Woolf asked, standing up from the table.

 

Celine stooped to pick it up. “Is he... on any sort of medication?” she inquired, hoping there was maybe some sort of old sports injury she’d never known about.

 

“Not that I know of,” he answered. “Let me see it.”

 

Celine handed the bottle over and Woolf inspected the pills inside. “Moore, what’s a round white pill with a “c” on one side and the number “2” on the other?”

 

Moore did a quick web search on his laptop. “Uh… Fentora, two hundred micrograms. It’s a fentanyl buccal tablet.”

 

“What the fuck?” Medina interjected.

 

“What… what does he need fentanyl for?” Celine asked.

 

“We’re going to find out,” Woolf said as he walked towards the stairs. The rest of the group quietly followed and waited behind Woolf as he lightly rapped on Erikson’s door before walking in. 

 

“Dude, I’ll be ready, just give me an hour or two,” Erikson complained, slinging his arm across his eyes.

 

Woolf sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s going on, man? Are you all right?” he carefully inquired.

 

“I’m fine,” Erikson groaned.

 

“So, what’s this for, then?” Woolf held up the prescription bottle. “It fell out of your fleece when I went to hang it up.”

 

Erikson stilled and then huffed as he moved his arm to look up at Woolf and then at the rest of his friends huddled in the doorway. “Is this a fucking intervention?” He was met with silence. “Look… I-  I only took two with the girl I was with last night. I swear that’s it. I haven’t done that shit in a long time. It just- It was a moment of weakness.”

 

“All right, I believe you,” Woolf said, strategically glossing over the history of prescription drug abuse Erikson had implied. “We’re all here if you need to talk about anything, OK? What was different about last night that made you get to that point?”

 

Erikson sat up and held his forehead with his hand. He remained silent for a few minutes before opening up. “Jules wasn’t returning my texts or calls. Last night he finally responded and told me that I’m just going through a phase and that I don’t take him seriously. I just can’t get him to understand…”

 

“Understand what?” Woolf asked quietly.

 

Erikson’s voice wavered with emotion as he mumbled into his hand. “I think I love him.” 

 

The entire group looked at each other with shocked expressions. “I’m really sorry, man. I had no idea. Maybe you guys just need a break for now and… I don’t know, maybe in a few months he’ll see that it’s not a phase for you,” Woolf offered.

 

“I feel like the more time I stay away, the more time he has to spend with… Nick from Venice Beach,” Erikson said with disdain. Celine briefly wondered who “Nick from Venice Beach” was and kind of wanted to see a picture.

 

“If he wants space, I’d give him space,” Woolf countered.

 

Moore had fidgeted next to Celine during the entire conversation, trying to keep himself from interrupting as the two former roommates talked. But it seemed that he’d finally had enough of Woolf’s tiptoeing and non-confrontational approach. “This is bullshit! You need to fucking do something. You’re wasting your fucking time with randos every night when you should be helping us  _ and  _ figuring out a plan to go after Jules. Get your shit together and go after him!”

 

“OK… or you could do that,” Woolf conceded, clearly taken unawares by Moore’s outburst.

 

“I’m serious! Go get him! There’s some crazy shit going on right now!” Moore continued. “What if we’re obliterated by aliens in a month?! Don’t just stand idle, man. Jules needs to know how you feel.”

 

Medina chuckled. “I kinda want to slow clap right now.”

 

Erikson threw his hands up. “But that’s my problem, I don’t know how to go after a guy. I can’t send a dude flowers or-”

 

“Yes, send him flowers!” Celine interjected enthusiastically. The rest of the group looked at her with amusement. “What? Anyone that tells you they don’t like getting flowers is lying.”   
  


Moore walked up to the bed and snatched the pill bottle out of Woolf’s hand. “You don’t need this. You’re not going anywhere tonight  _ or _ tomorrow; you’re going to come up with a plan to get Jules back. I will personally drive you to L.A. if I have to. And if it doesn’t work, then at least you tried.” Moore then dialed down the intensity from his voice. “OK… good talk. Now get your ass out of bed, we’re buying a goddamn plane. And you need to help us figure out what to do about this Rivali situation on the ride to the hangar.” 

 

Erikson’s expression twisted in confusion. “What Rivali situation?”

 

“He’s the commander  _ and _ pilot for the Kerberos investigation mission,” Medina answered.

 

“What?! He’ll just do whatever the higher ranking officers tell him to do,” Erikson said. “That’s not an investigation!”

 

“Exactly,” Medina agreed. 

 

Erikson paused for a minute, deep in thought. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Moore. I’ve been wasting time doing nothing.” After another momentary pause of consideration, he announced, “It’s time we got other countries involved. Moore, tomorrow you need to find a clip of one of the videos you downloaded that clearly shows Iverson’s face through the hazmat suit. Zoom in if you have to. We need some sort of caption stating that the Garrison leadership can’t be trusted for a proper investigation. Release another video of Shiro saying that aliens are coming and see if you can dig up his medical records; I’m sure they support that he has no history of mental illness. We need to release these videos and push for an international collaboration in this mission. We need to pressure the Garrison to assemble a crew from different countries if this is a matter of global security. I need to figure out how to contact the space programs from other countries. Medina, if we need it, can you speak  _ real  _ Spanish?”

 

“What, you think I speak  _ fake _ Spanish?!”

 

“No, you speak urban street spanglish. I need you to be able to have professional discussions with Central and South American space agencies.”

 

“Oh, come on. I can do that,” Medina argued.

 

“OK, I’m counting on you. And I’m going to need to brush up on my Mandarin. Who’s the aeronautics department press secretary for the mission this time around?”

 

“Sergeant Harper,” Medina replied.

 

Erikson nodded. “She’s cool. I wonder if we can trust her and get her on our side. Medina, can you chat her up a bit, she what she thinks of the videos that are out?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll talk to her.”

 

Erikson stood up from the bed, fighting through whatever hangover that lingered. “We’ve got a lot to do. Let’s go buy a fucking plane.”

 

\-----

 

It was around 10:00 PM when Celine finished rewiring the new solar panel. She took a step back; the satellite lay in five large sections and was as together as it could be at this juncture. Once they scouted a good location in the desert, she and the boys would quickly assemble the five parts of the satellite and hope for the best. Moore was also going to customize an app for Celine’s phone so she could VPN into the satellite and monitor it.

 

From the garage, she heard the boys burst through the front door so she walked inside to see how plane shopping had gone and find out why the hell it would take so long. As soon as she got inside, she was enthusiastically greeted. “Celine, we bought a plane!” Moore drunkenly cheered.

 

“You found a plane!” Celine exclaimed. 

 

Erikson pulled out his phone to show Celine. “It’s a four-passenger turboprop. It’s a little old but it’s been updated with some newer technology.” Celine laughed at the picture of the boys climbing and hugging the plane. “Uh, don’t mind Medina humping the wheel. He was just excited.”

 

“I  _ was _ excited. I’m  _ still _ excited. Not like, you know, not like that but… you know,” Medina stammered. They had obviously gone out to celebrate and everyone was a little buzzed.

 

“That’s awesome, guys. We can finally get the satellite running. It’s ready to go.”

 

Without warning, Medina walked over, scooped her up in an enormous hug, and spun her around. “Celine! You built a fucking satellite, girl! You’re my hero! Are you going to stay up and celebrate with us?”

 

“Sure,” she laughed.

 

“Just for a little while,” Moore added. “Right? We’re all still getting up early tomorrow.”

 

Woolf approached Celine after Medina let go of her to gather beer from the fridge. “Oh, lord, are you drunk, too?” she asked.

 

“I was the D.D, I only had one beer.” They accepted their drinks from Medina and then Woolf tugged her arm towards the door that led to the backyard. “Let’s go sit outside, I want to talk to you.” Celine suddenly felt nervous. That could mean any number of things…

 

The desert air was rapidly cooling but it was a welcome change from the daytime temperatures that lingered inside the garage that Celine had worked in for most of the evening. The two sat side-by-side in the lawn chairs that surrounded a fire pit. Woolf took a sip of his beer and sat quietly for a while. “So, you going to stick around and help us assemble your creation in the desert?”

 

“Yeah, I plan to,” Celine answered.

 

“And then after that?”

 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I want to see this through. I mean, I could go back home and start job hunting but… it just seems pointless, you know? If Earth really is at risk for some alien invasion, it feels silly to go on like nothing’s happening. I don’t know if that sounds stupid but-”

 

“No. I actually feel the same way. At work sometimes, we’re sitting in meetings, stressing over the details on a project, and it just feels so trivial to me now.”

 

Celine nodded and looked up at the sky, recalling the eerie UFO she saw when she was twelve. “I wonder what Keith and Shiro are dealing with out there,” she said, mostly to herself.

 

“Well, despite the circumstances for you having to stick around, I’m happy you are,” he said, turning towards her.

 

She smiled nervously and fidgeted with the bottle in her hands. She could hear the other boys’ drunken laughter coming from the open kitchen window. “I’m happy to stick around.”

 

“So, do I need to buy you flowers?”

 

Celine powered through her anxiousness to tease Woolf. “Do you not buy flowers for girls? You’re not as smooth and romantic as you let on.”

 

Woolf laughed into his beer. “I’ve bought flowers for girls before. I just pegged you for a ‘fuck flowers’ kind of girl.”

 

Celine desperately tried to not blush. “I don’t  _ need  _ you to buy me flowers but if you were so  _ inclined _ ... I’d really like them… coming from you...” Her voice trailed off into a breathless whisper.

 

“Celine?” 

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

“Um...”  _ Yes, please. _ “Y-yeah.” Celine’s heart pounded with exhilaration as Woolf leaned in to softly press his lips to hers. The scents and sounds of her outdoor surroundings vanished as his steady but gentle energy overcame her senses. She tried not to sigh his name aloud while following his lead and parting her mouth ever so slightly. There were no fireworks; rather, there was an ebbing and flowing of warmth that matched the slow and rhythmic push and pull of their lips. For a split-second, he pulled back to look into her eyes and smiled before leaning in to kiss her again. 

 

“I like you,” he quietly confessed after a third kiss. “Is that bad?” His shallow breath ghosted against her lips.

 

“You tell me. What about your brother?” Celine whispered back.

 

Woolf shrugged, lingering an inch away. “I guess he had his chance.”

 

“I agree,” she said, leaning in to initiate the next kiss. She made sure it was more demanding. His lips quirked into another smile, clearly enjoying her taking charge. He raised a hand to hold the back of her neck and then their perfect moment in the dark was interrupted by Medina’s yelling. “Celine!! Woolf!! Stop being antisocial!”

 

Woolf groaned and rested his forehead on Celine’s. “Come on. We don’t want to keep Medina waiting. He has a knack for being obliviously persistent sometimes.” He stood and offered his hand. Celine accepted it and rose from the lawn chair, trying to take deep breaths of the night air to calm herself.

 

Once inside, they found Erikson already curled up asleep on the couch while Moore and Medina laughed on about god-knows-what in the kitchen. They cheered when Woolf and Celine rejoined them. “Tequila or bourbon?” Medina asked as he stood to grab whichever liquor the couple chose.

 

Celine cringed. “Neither. But you guys can have at it.”

 

“Oh, come on, Celine. Just a small glass to-” Suddenly a strange and hollow beeping sounded from within the house. “Is that your phone, Woolf?” Medina asked.

 

“No. Is is that like a timer going off or something?” Woolf asked, turning around.

 

“No…” Medina responded, looking around the kitchen. 

 

Moore stood from the table and walked into the living room. “Erikson, is that your cell?”

 

Erikson frowned, prying his eyes open. “No,” he mumbled sleepily. “What about your phone?”

 

“Dude, I know what my phone sounds like,” Moore answered. “Medina, is it your smoke alarm? Maybe the battery’s low?”

 

Celine shook her head at the ridiculous scene before her: four sort-of adult men looking for the source of a beeping sound around the house. 

 

Moore paused. “Wait, everyone be quiet. It’s coming from the couch. Erikson, are you  _ sure _ it’s not your phone?” he asked, checking the couch cushions.

 

“Hmnhgh,” Erikson answered unintelligibly into the hoodie balled underneath his head as Moore jostled him.

 

Moore located his backpack from behind a throw pillow. The sound became louder as he dug through the bag and pulled out the ringing satellite phone. The group stared at the phone open-mouthed. Erikson quickly sat up from the couch and rubbed the sleep out his eyes.

 

“They’re… they’re calling. What should I do?” Moore said nervously.

 

“Answer it, dumbass,” Medina responded.

 

Moore rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Medina. Thanks for that.” 

 

“Then what were you asking for?!”

 

“Guys!” Erikson held up his hands to stop Moore and Medina’s bickering. “Just answer it.”

 

Moore took a deep breath while staring at the phone. “Fuck… OK… Fuck.” After another moment of hesitation, he pushed the green talk button. “Hello?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t read it, Part 3 elaborates slightly on Celine’s UFO sighting referenced in this chapter.   
> Thank you for reading!


	10. The fight is far from over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team scouts the Galra Imprisonment Camps.
> 
> And Keith’s mom is a BAMF.

 

“What do you think?” Erikson flipped his tablet to face Celine who was seated next to him on the couch. Looking up from her book, she inspected the picture of the floral arrangement he’d chosen to send to Jules.

 

“It’s gorgeous! And it’s actually very masculine with all the greens and neutrals. I like it. Does it really cost that much?” she asked, pointing to the price quote from the florist.

 

Erikson swatted her finger away. “Yes.”

 

“Damn.”

 

“Tell me about it,” he said, pulling his feet onto the couch and burrowing them underneath Celine for warmth.

 

“Agh! Your feet are so cold!” Celine complained, scooting away to put some distance between herself and his poor circulation.

 

“You were keeping them warm,” he whined.

 

“You might want to check to see if you’re actually alive, your feet feel like icy death,” she joked.

 

Erikson chuckled as he entered his credit card information to purchase the flowers. Celine naturally fell into the “little sister” role for him which made him wonder what his actual younger sister was like now. She must have just finished her junior year at Harvard. They’d never had a falling out like his older siblings but he had just avoided her by association. He made a mental note to try contacting her in the near future.

 

In the kitchen, Woolf was arguing with his boss on the phone. There had been yet another issue with the prototype in the simulator and they needed him back in the office by tomorrow afternoon even though his boss had signed off on him using his comp time for the entire week. After a while, Woolf groaned and ended the call. “I gotta go back.”

 

“Will they still let you take your vacation in two weeks?” Erikson asked.

 

“Yeah, hopefully. The project will be completely done by then and she’s going to let me add an extra week of comp time to the vacation. Unless she or the client change their mind. Again. Which keeps happening.”

 

Moore stepped out of the downstairs bathroom, freshly showered but still clearly battling a hangover from their we-bought-a-plane celebration the night prior. “I hate alcohol,” he announced to anyone who might feel sympathetic and then plopped onto the couch on the other side of Celine.

 

“That’s why I said no to the tequila,” Celine said smugly to rub it in.

 

“I’m very happy for you,” Moore responded in a monotone voice.

 

“Come on, Moore. I thought you were going to be up and at ‘em this morning, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Especially since your girlfriend finally called you,” Erikson teased.

 

“Fuck you,” he groaned, curling into a ball. 

 

“Why don’t you go back to bed for a while?” Celine offered.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Moore mumbled into the couch’s armrest. “We really need to leave soon. I want to make sure we’ve got good intel on the G.I.C.s before Lourdes gets here.”

“Wait, Moore, when are they coming again?” Woolf asked, looking at his work calendar on his phone. 

 

“One week from today,” Moore replied. “It’s not safe for them to fly so they have to drive.”

 

“Fuck! Now I won't be here!”

 

Medina laughed. “It's OK, Woolf. We don't need you to protect us. I think we'll manage without you.”

 

“Uh, you guys said she held a knife to Moore’s throat,” he retorted.

 

“She just didn't know if she could trust us then. She knew Medina worked for the Garrison,” Moore reasoned. “It'll be fine.”

 

“That doesn't mean we can just trust them and let them walk in the front door. Aliens, welcome, please, make yourselves at home. Feel free to kill us in our sleep in retaliation for the decades of oppression our people have put you through,” Woolf said sarcastically. 

 

Moore rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.”

 

“At the very least Celine should stay somewhere else, just to be on the safe side,” Woolf added.

 

Moore uncurled from fetal position to look at Woolf. “Um, actually… I was thinking that it would be good if Celine’s here when they arrive. It’s just Lourdes and one or two other women coming and they’re walking into a house of guys close to enemy territory. They’re taking a chance coming out here. I think having a girl here will just make it seem like a safer environment. I don’t want it to feel like they’re outnumbered or anything.” Moore then turned to Celine. “Assuming that this is all cool with you. You don’t have to stick around if you’re uncomfortable.”

 

“Elliot, I want to stay. And don’t forget, Keith is  _ also _ part alien. They’re just normal people,” Celine challenged.

 

“This is different, though,” Woolf countered. “We hardly know these people and they have good reason not to trust humans, especially ones that have been associated with the Garrison in the past. I’m just saying they could come armed and they might be hostile.”

 

“They can help us and I want to meet them. I’ll be OK.”

 

“We really need to get going, soon.” Moore stood, holding his temple. “Ugh, I need some ibuprofen. And something greasy. Like bacon.”

 

Medina gasped in the kitchen. “Blasphemy! I’m telling your baba!” he jested.

 

“My grandmother knows I eat pork,” Moore said before shifting the subject away from his family’s very traditional and overbearing matriarch. “Who’s piloting our scouting mission today?”

 

“Clearly not you,” Medina responded. “Actually, all you guys are out of practice. I should at least co-pilot.”

 

“Yeah,” Erikson agreed. “Woolf, why don’t  _ you _ fly?”

 

Woolf looked up, the irritation in his face fading into excitement. “Really!? I mean, it’s technically your plane.”

 

“It’s  _ our _ plane. You and Medina can fly this time around,” Erikson replied.

 

Woolf looked giddy. “Seriously? Oh my god. It’s been so long.”

 

Medina smacked Woolf’s arm and seized the opportunity to provoke him. “I hope you’re not talking about your sex life.”

 

Erikson watched as Woolf cringed at the comment before hitting Medina back.  _ Why would he care about…  _ And then Erikson peered over at Celine, who abruptly looked down and at her book again to hide the flush blooming across her face. The pieces suddenly fell into place.  _ Oh… _

 

\-----

 

After the boys pulled the turboprop out of the hangar, Celine walked around the plane, performing a basic mechanics check. It was strange that she liked working on aircraft but actually hated flying. Being an on-board mechanic in team simulations during her last two years of school was tolerable only because she knew she wasn’t actually airborne. 

 

Peering into the cockpit, she noted the fuel gauge and then turned towards the guys. “You boys need fuel,” she announced.

 

Four blank faces looked back at her and then at each other. “They don’t do that for us?” Erikson asked.

 

Celine rolled her eyes, recalling the gripes from her classmates in the mechanics track about how spoiled pilots were. “At a tiny public airport like this, you need to do it yourself.”

 

Erikson looked around, still unsure. “Um… OK…”

 

Celine folded her arms and snorted. “You guys don’t know how to fuel an aircraft at all, do you?”

 

Erikson shrugged. Medina scratched his head. Moore looked around and behind himself. Woolf sheepishly shook his head no.

 

With an exaggerated sigh, Celine walked past them to grab a grounding wire from the fueling station. “Erikson, you need to input your credit card info to start the pump,” she called while she uncranked the wire cable and hooked it to the plane. “Elliot, grab me the ladder behind the pump. Medina, pull out the hose from that square compartment.” She paused when she took in Moore’s still-disheveled state. “Moore, just stand there and look hungover,” she teased.

 

Moore gave her a thumbs-up and followed orders.

 

Medina lugged the hose over and handed it to Celine after she climbed the ladder and unscrewed the cap from the top of the wing. “See? This isn’t that hard, boys.” 

 

She looked down at Woolf to shoot him a mockingly condescending look. He responded with a smirk and then mouthed the words, “So hot.” Trying to hide her enormous smile, she looked down, pretending like the fuel pump nozzle required her undivided attention until the tank was full.

 

Moore stopped feeling sorry for himself and got to work securing a high-definition video camera to the airplane so that he could shoot footage of the G.I.C.s. Once they were finished, the team piled into the pint-sized aircraft and Woolf and Medina pulled on their headsets after settling in the cockpit.

 

Celine couldn’t help her nerves from showing when Woolf started the engine and began taxiing. Moore looked over at her. “You don’t like flying?”

 

“Not… really,” she said, trying to make her death grip on the armrest less noticeable.

 

As they slowly taxied around the hangar and towards the runway, Medina’s voice came over the speaker in the small four-seat cabin. “This is your co-pilot speaking. On behalf of the captain and myself, welcome aboard Fuck the Garrison Airlines.” Laughing along with the guys, Celine’s fear of flying was briefly forgotten as Medina continued his mock announcements. “For your safety, the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. I will not be demonstrating how to buckle your seatbelt. If you can’t figure it out, you’re a fucking idiot. There is only one emergency exit in the cabin. If you don’t know where it is, you’re a fucking idiot. My dishwasher is bigger than this plane. Life vests are under your seats in the unlikely event that we get even remotely close to water. We’re in the middle of the fucking desert. We wish you a safe and enjoyable flight. Last but not least, if you get sick while Woolf practices his barrel rolls, please refrain from vomiting in or around the cockpit. Thank you for flying with us. Fuck the Garrison.”

 

“Fuck the Garrison!” they shouted back in unison.

 

“No barrel rolls, please!” Moore called to the front. “I’m still hungover!”

 

Woolf idled and turned to look back into the cabin. “Just one?”

 

“Please no,” Celine pleaded.

 

Woolf pouted but gave in with a sigh. “Fine…” He then turned back around and spoke into his headset. “Holbrook tower. Cessna Aircraft Victor Foxtrot Five Two Seven, ready and holding at Runway Alpha One, requesting clearance for takeoff.” Celine’s knuckles turned white again and her foot nervously bounced. “Roger that, thank you.” 

 

Woolf accelerated the plane and Celine held her breath. “Holding your breath will make it worse,” she heard from behind. Erikson leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder for reassurance. Moore reached for her hand and squeezed it just before the weightless lift surrounded her, causing her stomach to drop. That was one thing the simulators never got quite right no matter how much the technology advanced to make them as realistic as possible.

 

“You OK back there?” Woolf’s voice sounded over the speaker as they climbed towards the cloudless sky.

 

“Yeah...” Celine responded, knowing he was asking her and not Moore.

 

“I’ll take it easy, darling. Don’t worry.”

 

Medina’s voice came over the speaker next. “Darling?!”

 

\-----

 

After thirty minutes, they approached the area identified on Moore’s topographical map and the team began looking for any signs of Garrison activity as they soared over the monotonous desert terrain. The plan was to locate potential entry points to the underground G.I.C.s and then find a place to assemble the satellite as far as possible from the camps, the Garrison headquarters, and civilization in general.

 

“See anything?” Medina yelled back.

 

Moore lowered his binoculars and looked down to check the map. “Not much yet. We should be on top of it though. For safety reasons they’d need at least six exits if there’s as many people down there as we think. We need to keep an eye out for tracks or supply routes. They’d need to bring in food and water.”

 

“What if aliens don’t need food and water?” Medina joked.

 

“Medina!” Celine scolded. “Keith  _ ate  _ food! You saw him eat.”

 

Woolf had circled most of what Moore estimated to be the perimeter of the camps with no sight of human activity. Finally Erikson spoke up. “I think I got something! Five o’clock. It looks like a helicopter’s been there. And there might be some tire tracks around it.”

 

Using an app from his phone, Moore started shooting video with the video camera. “I think I can make out a cluster of rocks marking one of the entrances but let’s hope we can zoom in and get some good info from the footage I’m taking. Now let’s get out of here and find a place for the satellite.”

 

With the assumption that the helicopter markings were a major entry point to the underground camps, the team headed west in search of a decent-sized boulder where the satellite would be shaded from any sort of Garrison traffic to and from the camps during typical business hours.

 

The landing on the rural, sand-blown road was a little rough but Celine supposed that it could’ve been worse. The group pushed the plane off the road just in case a car actually passed through this desolate part of the desert. Celine grabbed a small contraption from her bag as they approached the large rock that she’d spotted from the air. She had rigged a discarded circuit board to one of the smaller solar panels Woolf had pilfered from work. 

 

Moore plotted the coordinates on the map as she kneeled to place the small device next to the boulder, shielded from the wind and hopefully hidden from the Garrison. “What’s that for?” Erikson questioned.

 

“Well, we don’t know if this area is safe to assemble the satellite so I cobbled together a test device. I can track it with Moore’s VPN app and if no one messes with it in the next week, we’re going to assume that it’s OK to set up shop here,” Celine explained. She patted the top of the device lovingly. “Let’s hope for the best.”

 

\-----

 

That evening, Celine sat in her bed, brushing her recently towel-dried hair when Woolf knocked. He entered, holding her enormous wrench.

 

“What is it with you and that wrench?” she said, laughing.

 

He smiled slightly before letting concern cloud his expression. “Keep this next to your bed,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll be back before they arrive.”

 

“I think you’re overreacting.”

 

Woolf sat on the edge of the bed next to Celine. “Maybe… but, I just want to make sure you’re safe. I know Keith is the same alien race but we don’t really know these people and what they want. Hopefully they just want to scout the G.I.C.s with us like they told Moore. But if you think that anything seems suspicious, tell the guys, OK? Is there anywhere else you can stay in case of anything? Just as a backup plan?”

 

“A couple of my old classmates have an apartment on the opposite side of the Garrison compound. I could talk to them.”

 

“OK. Thank you,” he said, looking a little relieved.

 

“When are you taking off?”

 

“My flight’s super-early in the morning. I’ll have to leave here around four AM,” he replied, standing back up.

 

“Are you… going to bed?” she asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

 

“Uh, yeah in a bit,” he said hesitantly. He looked conflicted, like he needed to leave but wanted to stay.

 

“Who’s going to set up the ladder to fuel the plane while you’re gone? You played such a crucial role today,” she teased.

 

“Um, I flew the plane,” he said in his defense. “I’m glad you were there, though. We would’ve figured out the gas thing but we probably wouldn’t have thought to ground the plane.”

 

“Yeah, explosions would’ve been bad. But, now you know. Do I need write a step-by-step guide for you in case I’m hiding out at my friends’ apartment because you’re paranoid about aliens?”

 

He cocked an eyebrow flirtatiously. “Oh, I took notes. I might need you to show me again though.”

 

She recalled the need in his eyes that morning when she looked down at him from the ladder. He liked when she took charge. “So, are you going to run out of here without giving me a goodnight kiss or do I need to start barking orders again?”

 

He grinned, dimples more prominent in the dim light, as he approached to sit beside her again. Placing a hand next to her on the bed, he tilted his head and leaned in.

 

Their lips met, slowly exploring and learning one another’s rhythm. Although his lips were slightly chapped from the time they’d spent in the desert, they were disarmingly soft and warm and melted into hers. He shifted forward to deepen the kiss, delicately curling his tongue into her mouth, but it was his hand on her waist that sent a jolt of urgency through her. Unsure of how far she should realistically take this but not wanting to stop, she tangled her arms around his neck and yanked him even closer. He responded with addicting, breathless sounds that encouraged her.

 

Balance unstable in that position, Celine let herself fall to the mattress, pulling him on top. He dipped his head down towards her neck but then paused and rather than kissing the soft space below her jaw, he rested his head on her shoulder. “Uh… we should probably... stop.” He then picked up his head to look her in the eyes and nodded towards the door behind him. “I’m going to go out there... and... sleep.”

 

Celine kept her arms around his neck to keep him from getting up. “Why? You can sleep here if you want.”

 

Woolf shot her the same look from this morning. The  _ I want you really fucking bad _ look before prying her arms off of him. “I think you know why,” he whispered longingly. He gave her one more slow kiss on the lips and then got up to leave. 

 

\-----

 

“I haven’t heard anything whatsoever,” Erikson bitched in Celine’s room a few evenings later. “I know he got the stupid flowers. Ugh. Should I send them again?”

 

“It would be funny if you sent them every day and just inundated his house with a jungle of flowers until he had to call you,” Celine said.

 

“It’s not like things ended with this huge argument. I just… I don’t fucking get why he’s shutting me out like this.”

 

Medina poked his head into the room after rapping on the doorframe. “Hey, Erikson, got a second? We need to pick your brain.”

 

Celine followed Erikson to join in the meeting at the kitchen table. “Look, I’m waiting to hear back from China but I think we’ve piqued their interest,” Erikson started as he took a seat. “And Medina, once you translate that email I sent you then we can send it to a few contacts I’ve located in Argentina, Mexico, and probably-”

 

“This isn’t about that,” Medina interrupted. “I’ll get to the email tomorrow but... Moore and I were thinking… So, this morning I spoke with Sergeant Harper, the new Kerberos press secretary. She’s pretty much aligned with us. She thinks there’s a lot of shady stuff going on right now but she’s just trying to keep her head low. She mentioned the non-disclosure agreement she had to sign but she pointed out a discrepancy and I wondered if it was the same with your contract so Moore checked it out. Harper said they told her that if she resigned or was let go, she had to keep quiet about the mission for four years but when she looked at the contract it only states one year in the fine print. Moore found your signed copy on the servers and it also says one year.”

 

“That’s weird because they told me three years. Glad to hear that the legal department is still a shit show,” Erikson responded.

 

“Well, yeah, but aside from that,” Moore started. “This means you can publicly come out about the Kerberos mission.”

 

“Uh… Yeah, I… guess I could. I never really considered that.”

 

“Dude, you personally saw the onboard footage. It was obvious that there were no explosions or crashes. You witnessed all the cover-ups first-hand,” Moore continued, eyes wild. “Just think about the headlines, man. ‘Former Kerberos press secretary speaks out.’ That’s really fucking powerful.” 

 

\-----

 

She tapped her nails on the metal table in boredom and looked up at the security cameras in either corner of the room. The recording indicator lights glowed with a dim yellow color.   _ I’m waiting...  _ She knew it was a waste of her time and powers to needle into the minds of her interrogators, but it was amusing. And it wasn’t like there was anything else to do in these underground “camps”. It had to have been at least three weeks and she needed some sort of entertainment to keep her from going crazy.

 

So far today, she’d torn through three officers; ripped their insecurities out from their heavily guarded hearts and tormented them until they had run from the room out of fear, embarrassment, or a combination of the two.

 

After what felt like an hour, a fourth interrogator finally approached the door of the holding room. She watched him through the bulletproof glass and then closed her eyes to take in his energy. This one was a little different. He exhibited a strong, determined confidence and his fear wasn’t as easy to pinpoint. It was almost as if he barely had any. Or maybe he just knew exactly what to hide.  _ Intriguing,  _ she thought.

 

The man entered the room and slid the door closed before removing his senior officer’s beret.

 

She couldn’t help but smile with delight. “A senior officer,” she sneered as she leaned back into her chair, disrespectfully kicking her dusty boots up onto the table in front of her. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

 

She inspected the man’s face as he sat down and reached to turn on the microphone positioned at the center of the table. His facial hair and the mess of waves just barely tamed into a man-bun reminded her of some sort of a cocky European tennis player. But the air of sleaze that surrounded him kept her from finding him attractive. Placing his beret and a file folder next to the microphone, his dark eyes flicked up to hers and then to her boots. “Do you mind removing your feet from the table?”

 

She smirked and did nothing of the sort. Rather, she nudged the microphone with the tip of her boot to knock it over. Sure, it was immature, but playful defiance was getting her through this shit right now.

 

The man cocked an eyebrow. “O….kay….” He then righted the microphone and opened the file folder. “So... With all of these different names I have here, what should I call you? Gwansun Lee? Yuna Winston? Ayla Kogane-Miller?”

 

She felt his controlled emotion waver at the mention of the third name.  _ There it is.  _ She then sighed with indifference for show. “It doesn’t really matter, they’re all made-up names. You seem to like the name Ayla, though.”

 

The officer shrugged and the brief uncertainty disappeared. “Makes no difference to me. Just wondering how you’d like to be addressed.” The two engaged in a brief staredown before the man finally held out his hand to introduce himself. “Commander Alexander Rivali.”

 

“You can call me Gwansun. I don’t want to cause you and your men any more confusion,” she said, removing her feet from the table and leaning forward to shake the commander’s hand. “What can I help you with,  _ Commander _ ?”

 

“Well you haven’t been all that cooperative with our Global Securities team but... I’m sort of conducting an independent investigation. I’m wondering if you’re even who you say you are. I’m wondering if you maybe you took the fall for the real Gwansun. The investigative team didn’t find a ceremonial blade in your home. And it wasn’t on you when you were searched. Isn’t that something that gets passed down through generations? If you’re as high-ranking as they say you are, where’s your blade?”

 

“I had no use for it. So, I gave it away.”

 

“To whom?”

 

“I could’ve given it to anyone, what does it fucking matter?” She threw her head back, pretending that his questions were a ridiculous waste of her time. “Next question.”

 

“Fine… do you have any children?”

 

“None that want to speak to me, I suppose,” she replied, attempting to maintain an impression of indifference. 

 

“You don’t keep in contact?”

 

“Children don’t seem to get over their abandonment issues all that easily. So, no, I don’t keep in contact with either of them. And they’ve never tried to locate me.”

 

“Either? You have  _ two _ children?” Rivali furrowed his brow and shuffled through a few documents in the folder.

 

“You are a master of the English language. Yes. I have  _ two _ children. Only one remained on Earth.”

 

Rivali looked up and narrowed his eyes. “And the other?”

 

“You’re just as dense as the rest of them. I told you I don’t keep in contact with them,” she answered tersely. “Do  _ you _ have children, Commander?”

 

“I have a daughter,” Rivali cautiously offered.

 

“And you don’t take issue with what’s going on here? There are plenty of children down here in these imprisonment camps. They’re still predominantly human.  _ I’m _ still predominantly human. With all this lack of empathy, I’m assuming that you’re not a very good father.”

 

His jaw clenched as he answered, attempting to maintain an even tone of voice. “These aren’t imprisonment camps, Gwansun. They’re  _ isolation _ camps. We’re trying to protect you from the mass hysteria that would result if the general public found out that aliens were among them. This is for your own safety. And the public’s safety. And my relationship with my daughter is none of your business.”

 

Gwansun just smiled. “I think the Garrison is lying to you and you’re just as naive as the rest of your staff for believing them. And if your daughter is none of my business then why are my children any of yours?” But she knew where he was going with this.

 

His fear fluttered again but he steadied it quickly before he spoke. “I have reason to believe that you have a son who was a student at the Galaxy Garrison. Your former alias is printed on his birth certificate.”

 

Gwansun shook her head, but couldn’t argue. She’d always wondered when the Garrison would figure it out. She had been able to send people to check in on Keith while he remained in California, but once he’d enrolled at the Galaxy Garrison, it was difficult to monitor him between the Garrison’s security and finding informants willing to spend time that close to enemy territory.  _ But why would the mention of Keith cause his energy to fluctuate like that?  _

“So, the only reason you’re here is to interrogate me about my son?”

 

“Well, there’s more, but I was just curious. I was wondering if you knew where he disappeared off to.”

 

Gwansun suppressed her maternal instincts and tried not to worry. Keith could handle himself wherever he was. He was resourceful and never gave up without a fight. And knowing that fact had enabled her to live with herself and her decision for the past twelve years. “He disappeared?” she inquired.

 

“He was expelled for discipline issues,” Rivali stated matter-of-factly. “I don’t know what his father is like but I would guess he gets that sort of stuff from you,” he added with a smirk.

 

Gwansun snorted in response to the comment before attempting to flip the situation back onto the Garrison. “So, while he was under  _ your _ watch, you had no idea he was related to the woman you’d been hunting for decades?”

 

Rivali gave a slightly embarrassed nod. “The intel came in shortly after he was kicked out.”

 

Keith’s mother laughed. “You are an entertaining group of bumbling idiots.”

 

“Is that really your impression of us? We  _ did _ capture you after all.”

 

“I let you. I’m getting old. The stress of constant evasion was tiring. I think I have a few extra wrinkles just from the Garrison,” she said, inspecting the skin and protruding veins on the back of her hand.

 

The commander looked down at his notes. “Well if it’s any consolation, you don’t look your age.” He then reached for the microphone and flipped the glowing switch to the off position and leaned forward. “Off the record,” he whispered, “what is your impression of Administrator Adisa?”

 

Gwansun was taken off-guard by the question. Her eyes darted up to the security cameras in the room; their small red lights pulsed in stand-by mode. The commander had turned them off without her noticing and his fear was very difficult to sense in that moment. A dark determination had overcome his aura. She leaned away from him as she answered. “I had run-ins with him back when he was a hot-headed lieutenant. The task forces he proposed to investigate alien life were constantly being turned down so he searched for me in his spare time. I heard that he was almost discharged from the Garrison for his insolence, so he stopped ranting about aliens while he worked his way up the ranks. And now he’s in charge and can do whatever the hell he wants…”

 

“That’s all?”

 

“As far as I know.”

 

“Is he Galra?” Rivali hissed.

 

“If he is, he’s not one of mine. I suspect that perhaps he has struck a deal with the reigning Galra sect. Possibly in exchange for protection from invasion although he’d just be delaying the inevitable. I’m not quite sure if Adisa is working with other Galra or independently. The Blades have been on Earth and removed from the war for way too long; we’re a bit out of the loop.”

 

“Do you know who Takashi Shirogane is?” Rivali asked.

 

“Is that the pilot you left for dead out in the Kuiper Belt? From what I gather around here, you’re next.”

 

“I’m just trying to get answers,” the commander stated in his defense.

 

“Adisa is in the wrong and you know it. We are war refugees. There was never malicious intent in our coming to this planet.” She studied his conflicted expression but the fear didn’t resurface and implying that he would be be dying in space hadn’t affected him much either. Maybe he was comfortable with his fear of the unknown. Maybe he wasn’t hiding fear, but something more like guilt and regret. She would have to provoke him some more. Especially if Keith seemed to be the only trigger. “I’d like a few answers, if you’re so inclined. Did you capture me just to find Keith?”

 

“No. The Garrison is just targeting all of the most prominent Galra figures left on Earth. But if he’s part of your bloodline then-”

 

“And you have  _ no _ idea where my son is?”

 

It was definitely guilt. Rivali’s hand twitched. “No…”

 

Gwansun cocked her head, studying the commander. “Did you know my son? Personally?”

 

Rivali hesitated again. His uncertainty of the situation swelled, fueling Gwansun. “I did,” he answered.

 

“The last time I saw him, he was about eight. I had people check in on him from time to time and got to see a few pictures of him when he was in middle school but lost track of him after that. He was in his late teens at the Garrison. What was he like?”

 

Now the commander’s nervous energy was just like all the others. Unsure. Erratic. Vulnerable. “Uh… He was… really talented. He would’ve probably been the best pilot in the Garrison if he’d finished school.”

 

She dove in further. “Was he a student of yours?”

 

“N-no. I’m not an instructor. I… mentored him for a little while. Helped him out of the hole he dug for himself after a lengthy suspension for misconduct.”

 

“That’s it?” she prodded.

 

“Yes…”

 

She leaned forward, inches from the man’s face. “Then why are you so scared?”

 

Rivali leaned away and closed the file folder with shaking hands. “You can go back to your room or to the common area. This interrogation is over.” He stood abruptly from the table but did not take his eyes off of her as he backpedaled towards the exit.

 

“I’m not done with you,” Gwansun snarled, following him towards the door. 

 

“I said we’re done.” As Rivali fumbled with his beret and folder to push the exit button, she lunged forward, slamming his head into the bulletproof glass and holding her right palm over his forehead. She opened her mind’s channels and honed in on his tremoring life force to seize control of his memories. 

 

She was never quite sure what the other person saw when she did this. Did they see what she saw? Did they see something worse? Their stunned and terror-stricken eyes never revealed any details. 

 

Her mind’s eye plowed into him: through loneliness, futile relationships, jealousy, and divorce papers and into a small bedroom. A dorm room. The man before her, mostly undressed, hovered over a younger man in the bed. She focused her concentration on the younger man’s face. A tear rolled down the vacant face of the boy who looked to be her son, about ten years older from the last time she’d seen him. He wasn’t fighting. He’d given up.

 

Shocked, she released Rivali’s head. “What did you do to him?!” she seethed.

 

Rivali’s heavy breathing bordered on hyperventilation and kept him from forming words or even moving.

 

She pounded her hand into the glass next to his head and dug her nails in, feeling the acrylic filings accumulate against the pads of her fingers. “You monster! What did you do to him?!” she screamed while the commander clumsily felt for the exit button behind him. As she reached for his throat, she sensed his stunned reflexes finally respond to the adrenaline rushing in his blood vessels as he located the button and tumbled out of the room. 

 

The door immediately shut in her face but she dragged her nails along the glass pane that extended the entire length of the room, following him as he stumbled down the hallway. “Run!” she shrieked. “Run before I find more and rip you to shreds!!”

 

Quickly regaining control over her anger, she pulled deep within herself and breathed. She shouldn’t have given up. She never should’ve turned her back on her fellow Galra. On her own son. She knelt, holding her right hand up and sent a pulsing current into the air around her, a cry for her people, and then collapsed onto the floor, all energy spent.

 

\-----

 

He tried to not drop the files but Rivali couldn’t stop shaking. The visions. The foreign galaxies, dead planets, and immense black holes all contained within violet eyes. Keith’s eyes.

 

He made his way down the hallway, towards the main complex, and across a metal bridge that overlooked one of the many cavernous common rooms dug into the earth. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted prisoners swarming below him. Dismissing it as paranoia but scared not to know for sure, he looked down as the prisoners congregated, all looking up at at him. Somehow they knew. 

 

He broke into a run as the growing mass of prisoners followed him. Dashing across the bridge and towards the observation room, he bumped into three prisoners on their way to their rooms. Their heads snapped to look at him; their piercing purple eyes reading his soul. They didn’t attack; they just stared and followed him menacingly, almost like zombies from the horror movies his daughter was obsessed with watching.

 

Rivali hurried into the supervisor’s observation room and caught his breath behind the closed door. Along with two supervisors, the three junior officers who had already attempted to interview Gwansun stared at Rivali, wide-eyed. “I told you! She fucks with your head!” one of the sergeants squawked.

 

“I swear she reads minds,” another added.

 

“D-did… did she make you s-see stuff?!” Rivali stuttered.

 

The three officers’ mouths fell open. “No…” they answered.

 

“She really pulled out all the stops for you,” a supervisor speculated. He’d clearly observed this woman terrorize every single officer that tried to speak to her. “Must’ve really pissed her off.”

 

Rivali shook his head, trying to regain composure and preserve the last shred of his dignity in the presence of subordinates. He held his forehead and took in a long, slow breath. He’d only learned of the alien life on Earth in the past week as part of his new assignment to pilot the Kerberos Investigation mission and he was already regretting it immensely. 

 

And while he was on the subject of regret, he’d never thought that one horrible decision would haunt him in so many different ways. From Keith completely vanishing after his expulsion to Shiro’s return to earth. And now this? Keith’s mother literally extracting his memories from him? His forehead still burned where her palm had been. There were still bright spots dancing across his vision where the supernovas had exploded from Keith’s irises.  _ What the fuck have I gotten myself into?  _

 

Rivali finally managed to speak again. “I just… I just need to get out of here and finish my report back at home.”

 

He opened his eyes to the depressing fluorescent bulbs flickering across his colleagues’ faces. They still looked as if they were going to shit their pants. “Commander... I- I don’t know how you’re getting out of here,” one stammered, pointing to the observation windows behind him. 

 

Rivali turned and faced a sea of accusing purple eyes fixated solely on him. “Fuck…”

 

\-----

 

His eyes flew open in the middle of the night. He tried to steady his breath and figure out why he’d startled awake. Despite his pounding heart, he didn’t feel scared. He couldn’t recall any strange dreams and Shiro’s routine nightmares had already caused him to stir a couple vargas earlier. In fact, Keith could hear Shiro out in the common room right now, doing whatever it was he did every single one of his sleepless nights. And it bothered him that he hadn’t gathered the courage to talk to Shiro about it yet, but that wasn’t why Keith was currently awake with what felt like a foreign and yet familiar power controlling him from the inside. 

 

His blood was thrumming with a life force that wasn’t his. His heart flooded with a desperate emotion that wasn’t his. His head echoed with words that weren’t his. What was happening? This was different than Red communicating with him during combat. 

 

Keith’s mind raced back to the purple quintessence that had stained his right hand a few days ago while the knife under his pillow called to him. Called to, what felt like, the very molecules of his DNA. He tossed his pillow aside and unwrapped the blade’s hilt. Listening to the repeating message in his head, Keith looked at his purple eyes in the reflection of his blade.

 

_ Know who you are. Know the enemy. Know that the fight is far from over. _

_ Know who you are. Know the enemy. Know that the fight is far from over. _

_ Know who you are. Know the enemy. Know that the fight is far from over... _

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck yeah, Keith’s mom!!
> 
> It is purely entertainment for me to write this in my free time so I’m delighted that there are quite of few of you that are still enjoying this. Thank you!! Erikson and Moore will go to talk to Jules in the next chapter, and I know it’s pretty cheesy, but words will be mostly exchanged by playing songs for each other as they will be in public, so kind of like a low-key DJ battle of sorts, haha. So nerdy but it seems so awesome in my head. I’m considering making a playlist on Spotify of all the music from the series because apparently I’d rather do that than the grown-ass adult things that I should be doing.
> 
> Thank you thank you to avidbeader for all of her betaing. Yay!


	11. Who is Takashi Shirogane?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Fuck the Garrison meets a few new Galra and there is much to be discussed.
> 
> Thanks as always to avidbeader for beta reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very sorry but I lied, Erikson will talk to Jules in the NEXT chapter but it’s mostly written and should be posted shortly.

 

“Let me know what you think,” Erikson said, pulling up the finalized transcript of his public statement for Moore to read. He had relocated to one of the hotels downtown so that he could hold teleconferences with a few of the international contacts he’d made. Moore had also set up a recording area in the suite so that he could release a video speaking out against the Garrison. But he couldn’t stand the hotel’s continental breakfast. “Medina, you got any leftover rice?” he asked, digging through the fridge.

 

“Yeah, there’s some from last night,” Medina answered, joining the others at the kitchen table. 

 

Erikson located the container in question, heated a pan on the stove, and started chopping garlic.

 

Celine peeked over his shoulder. “Ooh, are you making garlic rice again?!” Erikson flashed her a grin. “Make enough for me!” 

 

“No problem. How did it go yesterday?”

 

“I couldn’t get out of work as early as I thought I could so we didn’t have enough daylight to assemble much,” Medina answered.

 

“Well, we got the base of the satellite together and anchored,” Celine added. “But we had to wrap the rest of the parts with a tarp and cover them with sand. Elliot said he’ll be back on Wednesday and he can help us finish it up.”

 

Erikson nodded and returned his attention to the pan on the stove. The scent of garlic frying made him feel nostalgic for the days back in L.A. when he’d come home from surfing and either devour leftovers or sit on the counter to watch Jules make this exact dish for breakfast. His chest tightened. God, he missed Jules.

 

“This is fucking awesome,” Moore said when he finished reading. “When should we record it?”

 

Erikson considered for a moment. “After I try to talk to Jules. You still cool with driving to L.A. with me at the end of the week?”

 

“Of course.” 

 

Even though the call was expected imminently, everyone’s heads snapped to the satellite phone when it rang from its charger on the counter. Moore scrambled to answer it. “Hey, Lourdes... OK. See you soon.” He ended the call. “They’ll be here in an hour.”

 

\-----

 

Erikson, Moore, Medina, and Celine stood on the driveway as a silver compact car pulled in. Celine thought about the wrench lying next to her bed but tried to steady her nerves and told herself she wouldn’t need it. Erikson placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed when the car’s engine turned off.

 

The driver’s side door opened and out stepped the beautiful, dark-skinned girl Moore had described. Purple eyes flashing, the corner of her lips quirked when she saw Moore and Medina. She gave them a quick nod. “Hello, Garrison boys.” 

 

Moore anxiously fidgeted, but before he could embarrass himself with a greeting that was meant to sound casually calm but would likely come off as awkwardly nervous, the group’s attention was drawn back to the car as two others emerged.

 

A Korean girl in her late twenties slammed the passenger door. The sides of her head were shaved and the longer locks on the top spilled to one side. She scowled and let her glaring purple eyes do the talking. 

 

From the backseat, a fair woman in her mid-thirties stepped out, wearing dark sunglasses, bitching into her cell phone a mile-a-minute with a cigarette barely clinging to her burgundy lips. “...I don’t care! You need to get a more credible source for this kind of story. Like, this is fuck-up-his-acting-career serious. If he beat up his girlfriend in the Hamptons, why was your source the only one that saw it?! If you can get more info from anyone else in the next hour then I can probably run the story but if…” the woman rambled on as she frowned at her platinum bleached split-ends in the side view mirror.

 

Celine exchanged confused expressions with the guys.  _ What the... _

 

Lourdes gestured impatiently at her colleague to end her call but the woman continued. “OK. Yes, I’ll get you on the list for the party tonight but like, if Willow Smith won’t confirm the divorce then I need you to go to the movie premiere instead.” The woman paused and raised her sunglasses briefly to peek at Celine and the guys. She had the same purple irises but the sclerae of her eyes were yellow. “I gotta go. Just don’t fuck this up. OK? Bye.” She sighed and looked at Lourdes. “Sorry. I can’t wait to fire my assistant editor when I get back. She’s an idiot. Oh shit, I almost forgot…” She looked at her phone again. “I need to reschedule my botox…”

 

Lourdes shook her head and crossed her arms. “Are you done yet?”

 

The blonde held up one finger while she finished typing something into her phone. “God, It’s fucking hot here. I thought ‘dry heat’ meant, like, not that hot,” she complained to Lourdes as she glanced up at her company again. “At least you brought me somewhere with cute boys. They look young. Although, I’d climb the tall one like a fucking tree,” she said with her sunglasses-obscured gaze lingering in Erikson’s direction.

 

Celine tried not to laugh when Erikson choked on his own saliva.

 

“Done?” Lourdes growled impatiently.

 

“Done.”

 

“Sorry about that,” Lourdes apologized, offering her hand to Celine and then Erikson. “I’m Lourdes. This is Su and Elise.” 

 

Moore did the introductions for their side of the driveway. “I’m Wesley, you remember Dani. This is Jesper, he was the Kerberos press secretary but resigned shortly after the death of the crew was announced. Our friend Elliot will be here in a few days, he also left the Garrison about a year ago. This is Celine, she’s a graduate from the Garrison’s mechanics program. She was also close friends with Keith.”

 

Lourdes studied Celine for a moment and smiled before turning to Moore. “Well, Garrison boy, let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

The group assembled around the kitchen table where the topographical map and some photographs were spread out. Elise pulled off her sunglasses to examine the map while Su’s purple eyes looked up at the light fixtures and tops of the cabinets. She nodded to Lourdes, who then spoke up after seemingly reading her mind. “Are you sure you’re not bugged?”

 

Moore shook his head. “There’s no way. No one suspects anything of Dani, we’d know by now. And besides, at least one of us is almost always here. There are no security cameras and I’ve taped over all of the built-in camera lenses in the computers and the television. I’ve done periodic checks as well, just to be safe.” Lourdes nodded her approval but Su continued to silently scan her surroundings.

 

“I don’t know what all these lines mean,” Elise said, waving her chipped nails over the map, putting her sunglasses back on, and distractedly checking her phone. “Su. You are not going to believe this! Wall-Street-banker-guy still won’t respond to my message on that dating site. Like what the fuck! I mean, he’s not cuter than me, is he?” she grumbled, showing her phone to Su.

 

Su finally spoke after assessing Wall-Street-banker-guy’s photo. Her voice was flat and disinterested. “He looks like a douchebag.”

 

“Dammit, Su. You’re always right,” she said. “I need to go fucking mediate. I trust you ladies to make any necessary decisions. Come get me if you need me.” She walked around the table and sidled up to Erikson. “Is there a room I can use? Preferably yours?” she asked, tugging on his arm.

 

“Uh… I don’t really um, live here. Well, I was but-” Erikson stammered uncomfortably.

 

Medina walked over to save his friend. “There’s a small study upstairs,” he said, ushering her out of the room and shooting the group a what-the-fuck look. The group stood in awkward silence until Medina returned. 

 

“I should probably explain, first,” Lourdes started.

 

“Yeah, that would probably help,” Medina snapped. Moore elbowed him in the ribs. “What, dude? I got three aliens in my house.” He looked up at Lourdes and Su. “No offense, I’m sure you’re very nice, you don’t look like aliens, but- Well, that one kinda looks like an alien,” he said, gesturing towards the stairs. “But like… you get it, right?”

 

“Oh my god,” Moore groaned, covering his face with embarrassment.

 

Su narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw but Lourdes placed a hand on her shoulder. “No. It’s OK. We owe you an explanation before we continue.”

 

“I want the full fucking history,” Medina responded.

 

Lourdes looked at Moore. “This one wasn’t so chatty last time,” she said, nodding towards Medina.

 

“I had a gun pointed at me!” Medina argued.

 

“That can be arranged,” Su said.

 

“Enough!” Lourdes held up her hands. “I’ll answer your questions and then you answer ours. Su and I are - _ were- _ Gwansun’s protectors. She descends from a very sacred bloodline and we were tasked with keeping her safe. Which we failed at.” Her voice trembled with emotion. Su looked down and then began pacing around the kitchen. “Elise is one of the Knowledge Holders.”

 

“What’s a Knowledge Holder?” Moore asked.

 

“We are far removed from our ancestry and the rest of our people, so a long time ago the elders began choosing the more intellectually advanced people of each generation to learn all there was to know about our history and culture. That way our heritage would not be forgotten.”

 

Medina scoffed. “Intellectually advanced?”

 

“She’s smarter than she lets on,” Lourdes answered. 

 

“Wait, so this kind of sounds like the Receivers of Memory from the ‘The Giver’,” Moore said.

 

“I guess, sort of. Our history isn’t purposely hidden from our people, but over time they just wanted to forget about being aliens the more they assimilated into life on Earth. The Knowledge Holders encouraged families to create believable ancestries and now most of the younger generations don’t know anything about our history. Almost everything I know I have either learned from Gwansun or Elise. I’m sorry that Elise is a little.... Well, she runs a celebrity gossip blog so…”

 

“Hence the Hot Mess from the Hamptons,” Medina joked just as Elise came back downstairs to grab her bag.

 

“I heard that. I don’t like,  _ live _ in the Hamptons. No one actually lives there after summer’s over,” she said, curling her lip.

 

Medina crossed his arms. “No? I know who lives there year-round. The Latinos you hire to clean your fucking vacation homes and maintain your massive lawns while you’re back in your tiny-ass apartment on the Upper East Side.”

 

Elise narrowed her eyes. “Ew, Upper East Side has been taken over by bros like you. I live in Brooklyn.”

 

“Of course you do. Let me guess… Bushwick, the fastest-gentrifying neighborhood in Brooklyn. You couldn’t afford Williamsburg but were too scared of Bed Stuy. Your bathtub is in your fucking kitchen and you’re scared to walk by the one block that all the Puerto Ricans still live on. But hey, you get to tell everyone that you have a loft in Brooklyn. It’s written all over your botox-filled face-”

 

“Medina,” Erikson warned. “Can we not-”

 

“Oh, where are you from, bro? Queens?” Elise mocked.

 

“Yeah, the ‘not-fake’ borough,” Medina argued.

 

“Seriously, is there any other way to shut that one up?” Lourdes asked, pointing at Medina.

 

Moore snorted. “Not really. We’ve been trying for years.”

 

“OK, fuck you all!” Medina turned and stormed out of the kitchen to pace in the living area.

 

Erikson tried his hand at diplomacy to downplay the hostility in the room. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sure you understand that this is a tense situation for us. We’d just like to know what exactly is going on here. We want to make sure that the Galra on Earth don’t have malicious intent. And we need to know if Earth is at risk for an invasion. We’re under the impression that there’s this intergalactic war that’s been going on for ten thousand years.”

 

“Ten thousand, one hundred and twenty-three years,” Elise corrected. 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be meditating!” Medina shouted from the living area.

 

“I’m distracted now! And I need a drink,” she shouted back.

 

Moore glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was 11:00 in the morning. “Um… you know there’s a time difference from the east coast, right?”

 

Elise shrugged. “No shit. Dani, do you have Jack?”

 

“Jack... Daniels? Like whiskey?!” Medina asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Medina returned to the kitchen, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. After a brief staredown, he shrugged. “Fuck it. Let’s drink and talk about aliens and shit.”

 

“This is so strange,” Celine whispered to Erikson, who nodded in agreement.

 

Finally the group sat down, Medina and Elise with their drinks in their hands and their more-New-York-than-thou grudges set aside. Temporarily. 

 

“OK,” Elise started. “The deal is, we had to evacuate when our planet, Daibazaal, became uninhabitable. A comet that could travel across alternate realities crashed into it and all these weird creatures from one of the realities threatened to invade what remained of the planet,” she stated nonchalantly. The group traded shocked looks at the casual mention of alternate realities. “I know. Super-annoying, right? Anyway, eventually the planet was destroyed by an Altean so that the rift to these alternate realities could be closed. Our military leader, Emperor Zarkon, was pissed and began taking over other planets but justified it by saying that he was spreading our culture’s stability and prosperity. Eventually he became so corrupted as he sought out revenge and—as we later learned—more quintessence, that he just wanted to take over as much of the universe as he could. The minority Galra sects tried to speak out against him but they were dealt with harshly and most were wiped out. Some of our people fled to this planet; Earth was very primitive at the time so it was thought that rumors of aliens landing on the planet wouldn’t spread that quickly and that we’d be safe. 

 

“The rest of the Marmorans remained on various ships throughout space and the elite warriors of our group, the Blades, focused on building a secret rebellion to fight against Zarkon. They’ve been doing a lot of recon and have infiltrated his ranks but not much else has happened so Zarkon has only gained more and more territory. We used to receive updates here and there from a teleport messenger, but they’ve really decreased in frequency over the decades and we’re lucky if we receive one message a year from the Blades.”

 

“Wait, I want to learn more about this quintessence stuff later but… Teleporting!?” Moore asked.

 

“Yep. There’s actually an old teleport hub near here but it was abandoned over ten years ago. That barely scratches the surface of the technology that the Galra have. The Blades now have gravity generators to fold space in order to hide a few of their outposts. The only thing we don’t have the power or technology for is to create wormholes like the Alteans. But I’m sure Zarkon is finding a work-around for that.”

 

“Wormholes? There’s an alien race that  _ makes  _ wormholes?” Moore asked, eyes wide and full of wonder.

 

Medina snorted. “You got any of their phone numbers? Can we hook up Moore with any of them?”

 

“They were all killed; theirs was one of the first planets to be destroyed,” Elise responded matter-of-factly. “There’s speculation that King Alfor of Altea cryogenically froze his daughter so that she could lead Voltron when the time came. And there are now rumors of Voltron sightings. So maybe she’s still alive and kicking. And making wormholes. I don’t have her phone number, though.”

 

“This is… crazy. How is this Zarkon guy still alive?” Celine spoke up. “Do Galra live longer than humans or did Zarkon freeze himself as well?”

 

Elise removed her sunglasses and played with them. The yellow sclerae of her eyes was slightly unsettling. “Galra  _ do  _ have much longer life-spans than Earthlings but Zarkon has seemingly unlimited access to this quintessence. It’s a life force that he’s harvesting from the conquered planets. That’s what has kept him alive for so long. Plus he has this witch that supposedly likes to… experiment.”

 

“So you’re as old as you look then?” Medina asked, mostly to annoy Elise.

 

“You’re my least favorite Earthling right now, you know that?” she said, scowling back. “And no, we’re not  _ that _ old. Plus thirty is the new twenty, asshole. That makes  _ you _ a child,” she grumbled before continuing. “Anyway, we have the capacity to adjust the length of the telomeres of our chromosomes. When we arrived on Earth centuries ago, our ancestors made the decision to purposely shorten our telomeres so that our lifespan decreased significantly and we could blend in with Earthlings faster. 

 

“I know your movies always position aliens as the bad guys but… we’re not here to take over Earth. We’re trying to survive a war, provide for ourselves and families, and just be safe and happy. Like everyone else. But when the fight comes to your planet, you’re going to need us.”

 

“You don’t understand how important Gwansun is,” Lourdes added. “She’s the last of the bloodline and she is incredibly powerful. When Zarkon’s forces get here, we’re going to need her. Our training under her guidance won’t be enough. We need to rescue her. Elise felt a strange energy that overcame her other day. She thinks it was Gwansun. She needs our help. If she’s killed and we can’t find Keith, then the bloodline is lost forever.”

 

Elise nodded. “But we also need answers. We recently received a message from the teleport hub in upstate New York. Attack by Zarkon’s forces was imminent up until the day the Blue Lion of Voltron reemerged and left Earth. Who is Takashi Shirogane? All I know is that he was the Kerberos pilot who was abducted.” The word made Celine and the others shiver. 

 

“You- you know about Shiro? What happened to him?” Erikson asked.

 

“The message is brief but the Blades had learned that Zarkon was going to attack Earth to acquire the Blue Lion. There are five lions of Voltron and Zarkon was tracking down all of them so that the greatest weapon in the universe can no longer stand in his way. Or can operate under his power. Ulaz, one of the Blades that had infiltrated Zarkon’s ranks, freed Takashi, and got him off of Zarkon’s ship so that he could warn Earth. He arrived in a Galra escape pod and we have reason to believe that he left Earth on the Blue Lion the next day. And now we know Voltron is active again, so it’s likely that he’s associated with Voltron.” 

 

Moore considered what Elise had just said. “Wait, if you guys can teleport, then why wouldn’t one of the Blades just teleport themselves to warn Earth? Why would they need to send Shiro?”

 

“Would you listen to a nine-foot purple humanoid alien with glowing yellow eyes?”

 

“Good point,” Medina commented.

 

“Plus, the Blades have always operated in secrecy, it’s how they’ve survived the war for this long.”

 

“And you guys didn’t know that the Blue Lion was here?” Moore questioned again.

 

“The Blades only recently gained that intel as a result of infiltrating Zarkon’s ranks. We honestly had no idea that it was here. Even if the Blades had alerted us to its coordinates and ordered us to defend the Lion from Zarkon, we wouldn’t have had the time to forge the right weaponry and assemble enough Galra on Earth willing to go near the Garrison and fight. Or if we had gone to warn the Garrison, we probably would have been imprisoned.”

 

Before Moore could ask another question, Erikson stepped in again. “How can we help Shiro?”

 

“By helping us,” Lourdes answered. “If he is part of Voltron now, he will play a pivotal role in this war. We know what happened to him but we don’t know what kind of person he is, especially given his association with the Galaxy Garrison. As Elise said, who is he and can he be trusted?”

 

“Yes, he can be trusted. He was held in high regard at the Garrison; he was well respected and one of the best pilots. I’m not sure what his feelings about the Garrison are now since being… abducted. I know he was suspicious of the Garrison’s leadership when they eliminated the rescue and extraction team for his mission. But regardless, he’s a very trustworthy person.”

 

“Even after being experimented on and forced to fight in a gladiator arena for a year? Will he be able to differentiate between the missions of the Zarkonians and the Marmorans?”

 

“What did they do to him?” Moore asked.

 

“You saw what they did to him. Aren’t those your leaked videos all over the internet? He was obviously tortured and experimented on by the Galra.  _ Zarkon’s _ Galra. But will he be able to see past that to work with the Blades?”

 

Erikson thoughtfully considered. “Shiro’s always done the right thing. And if he encounters the Blade who rescued him, I’m positive that he’d be grateful and willing to listen. Even if he is Galra.” 

 

“Do you know where the Blue Lion is now?!” Celine interjected. “Is Keith with Shiro?”

 

“What makes you think they are together?” Lourdes questioned.

 

Moore opened his laptop while Erikson answered. “Shiro and Keith were close. And the videos we released don't show the entire series of events.” He pointed to Moore’s laptop which showed Keith bursting into the compound where Shiro was held, throwing punches, and then cutting Shiro’s restraints with a knife.

 

The three women leaned forward, watching the video. Moore paused on Keith’s face. “That’s him…” Elise confirmed. 

 

Lourdes and Su exchanged looks; Su pulled out her phone and stepped outside while Lourdes addressed the team. “I believe that our missions have similar goals and that we can work together. Are you all in agreement?”

 

Erikson looked around the table before answering for the group. “Yes.”

 

“OK. How do we get into the imprisonment camps?”

 

Moore shuffled through the photographs on the table. “There’s one major entry point in and out, the rest of the points are just emergency exits. We’ll fly around this afternoon so you can see the area for yourselves. We need to figure out a way to get a message inside. From what we can tell, food is the only thing regularly going in. I’m wondering if we could find a way to get a written message hidden in with the cutlery… I can’t think of any other way of communicating.”

 

“I still think we should send fortune cookies,” Medina said with a smirk.

 

Elise snickered. “That would be hilarious. It won’t work though.”

 

“You can write it in Galra if you need to. You guys don’t read English?” Medina teased.

 

“It’s not that,” Lourdes said. “Many of the people don’t even know they’re Galra.” 

 

“It doesn’t matter. They’re imprisoned! They still need to rise up! It’s wrong regardless of who they are!” Moore argued. “Gwansun can rally them! She has to!!”

 

“But Gwansun gave up. Why would they follow her? Most of them probably don’t even know who she is. The older ones who might remember probably think she died years ago when the Garrison tried to fake her death in order to break the last of the rebellion.”

 

“She’d have to convince them?”

 

Lourdes nodded. “They probably don’t know how to fight either.”

 

“But they have numbers!” Moore pounded his fist on the table.

 

“How can you be sure? How many people from the Garrison work down there?”

 

“I don’t- I don’t know. All the classified information that pertains to the camps is kept as paper records, I can’t access anything on the servers.”

 

Elise spoke up. “He’s right. We can’t just rely on the prisoners to receive one or two written messages and fight their way out. And breaking in without knowing where to look or how many guards we’d have to fight would be a suicide mission.”

 

Lourdes nodded. “We’d need to smuggle in weapons or…” Her eyes met Moore’s as she thought. “We could probably fit explosive chemicals into something like sugar packets.”

 

Moore’s eyes lit up. “Maybe we can follow a supply vehicle back to the compound and figure out where the food is stored.”

 

Elise chimed in. “OK, but if we get explosives into the camps, do we just like, print instructions with the salt and pepper and hope Gwansun will do the rest? I don’t think she has it in her to motivate the masses. She never wanted to be a leader and she’s not much of a ‘people’ person; she’ll probably need other Galra to vouch for her. And she needs to know that there are Earthlings on the outside that stand behind her, people that can influence the Garrison or who are at least willing to stand up to them.”

 

Out of nowhere, Su spoke up again. “One of us needs to get captured. We formulate a plan beforehand so that it can be verbally communicated to Gwansun.”

 

Elise cursed. “Fucking hell, Su. I knew it would come to this.”

 

“Absolutely not!” Lourdes objected.

 

“It’s the only way. I’ll do it,” Su offered.

 

Moore read the worry on Lourdes’ face. “It’ll be a last resort. We’ll find another way, OK?”

 

\-----

 

If was late in the evening a few days later when Woolf pulled up to Medina’s house in his rental car. He eyed the three unfamiliar women standing outside as he grabbed his luggage out of the trunk. 

 

“Oh look, fresh meat,” the blonde one said, lighting a new cigarette with her old one. She was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark out. The black girl that Moore had waxed lyrical for hours on end was standing next to her, rolling her eyes.

 

Woolf walked up, trying to brush aside the comment. “Hello. You ladies must be…”  _ Dammit, how should I refer to them? _

 

His hesitation inspired the third one, a glowering woman with a mostly shaved head, to speak. “The aliens?” she said in a monotone voice.

 

“Uh, well… That’s not what I was going to say but…”  _ Not sure WHAT I was going to say. _

 

The blonde tsked. “Don’t scare the new boy, Su. I’m Elise,” she flirted, offering her hand. Woolf hesitantly shook it.

 

“The both of you are scaring everyone!” The girl with the braids criticized the other two. “You must be Elliot. I’m Lourdes, don't mind Su and Elise. We’re heading back to our motel for the night. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

 

“Um, OK. Well, nice to meet you ladies. Have a good night,” Woolf said in the most upbeat tone of voice he could possibly muster.  _ They’re a strange bunch. _

 

Woolf walked into the house and found Medina gathering coffee cups from around the living room. “Hey!”

 

“Hey,” Medina replied unenthusiastically, holding four mugs, all caked with burgundy lipstick.

 

“I met our new friends outside. They’re… interesting.”

 

“Don’t even get me started. Elise only drinks caffeine or alcohol and literally walks around leaving her drinks everywhere,” Medina complained. “She’ll grab a cup of coffee and then leave it somewhere and in the meantime, she’ll find another one she forgot that’s been sitting out for six hours and drink that. She’s so disgusting!”

 

Woolf laughed. “Celine wasn’t kidding, you’ve really met your arch-nemesis. A five-foot-one bottle blonde who chain-smokes and wears sunglasses at night.” Unamused, Medina just grumbled in Spanish and walked towards the kitchen.

 

Woolf shrugged and rapped on Celine’s door before opening it.

 

“Hi!” Celine jumped up from the bed and flung her arms around his neck. He leaned down to catch her lips with a kiss. He held her hips with his hands and felt a narrow sliver of exposed skin as she reached up to pull him closer. He wanted to touch more and it was going to make him crazy.

 

“Hey you,” he whispered.

 

“Three weeks off?” she asked before kissing him again.

 

“Uh huh. You gonna get sick of me?”

 

“Fuck no,” she replied, pulling him down onto the bed. 

 

He was really trying to take things slowly but it was difficult when she kept doing things like that. “Guess what?” he asked to distract her.

 

Celine snickered. “You just thought of another band you love that you realized is Canadian?”

 

“I did. It’s an important one, too!” he said, pushing himself to lie alongside her. “Broken Social Scene!” He’d made a game out of texting her every time he thought of a musician or band that had originated from her homeland.

 

“You’re such a nerd,” she teased. “You sit around all day gazing lovingly at your vinyl collection, don’t you? You probably spread them all over your bed and roll around on them.”

 

“Of course I do!” he joked. “Naked! But only with the Canadian ones.” Anything to hear her laugh.

 

“I’d pay to see that,” she giggled.

 

He leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers. “Darling, I wouldn’t charge you.” He then lifted his head to watch a pink flush bloom across her cheeks. “Are we leaving first thing to finish Frankenstein?” 

 

She nodded. “Yeah. We only got to anchor the base last Friday.”

 

“We should probably get some sleep then. At least I get the living room to myself. I see Moore graduated to Erikson’s old room. His crap isn’t all over the couch anymore.”

 

Celine hummed and wrapped her arms behind his neck again to keep him from getting up. “Stay here,” she whispered.

 

_ See? She keeps doing THESE kinds of things. _ “Mmm… You know that’s not a good idea.” He had to at least attempt to put up a fight. 

 

“You’d rather sleep on the couch?” she questioned before licking into his mouth and running her tongue along his, causing him to shiver. 

 

“No, but…” He was fighting a losing battle. She nipped at his bottom lip and raked her nails along the nape of his neck.  _ Shit... _ “Twist my arm,” he conceded.

 

The satisfied grin on her face was worth it. Her pushing him down to crawl on top was even better.

 

\-----

 

It only took a day for the excitement in the camps to die down. Everyone believed it was a mind control experiment; a rumor likely started by the Garrison guards in an attempt to maintain fear and order. And now a week later, it was as if nothing had happened. The interrogations had also ceased. Either they’d given up or they were preparing themselves for something bigger.

 

Gwansun sat in a corner in the cavernous dirt room, watching the hundreds of prisoners idly milling about. Going about their assigned duties. Watching programming on the various screens available to them. Gossiping about each other and the guards. Distracted. Wasting time. Perhaps there were sedatives in the food that made them so strangely comfortable with being proverbial animals in cages. She decided to scrutinize her food at the next meal now that she was permitted to dine with the rest of the prisoners.

 

At least there was plenty of time to meditate; she might as well take advantage. Closing her eyes, she drew her focus inward. 

 

After minutes of calming her angry and tumultuous mind, she found herself on a street in an urban setting. The shops and restaurants were familiar except that everything was drowned in purple light. That haunting ultraviolet, permeating every detail of her psychic realm. It was oppressive and weighed her down. Despite the menacing clouds, she could make out the sun and other stars in the sky. But the air still felt frigid. Inhospitable. Like outer space. Traffic and people rushed past her as she struggled to walk down the street. It felt as if she was walking against an invisible current.

 

She paused and breathed deeply, locating the warmth in her heart and the little gratitude that was left. She was still alive. She could still try to inspire her people. And her boy was still out there. Extracting the oppressive blue tones out of her surroundings, she held her right hand above her and released the dark energy upwards toward the sky. Zarkon could have it back. 

 

She took in her now rose-colored surroundings with the Milky Way twinkling in the cloudless sky. The cars and people began to fade as she glided down the street and towards her favorite park, the setting of her fondest memories. Making a mental note to stop at the tea shop near the park entrance next time she was here, she drifted through the park’s gate and straight towards the cherry blossoms. 

 

It was peaceful and she only saw three other people walking through the esplanade. They gawked at the blossoms in bewilderment.

 

Petals rained down on her as she sat beneath the boughs and watched snippets of her memories flash before her. For a brief moment, she saw her six-year-old son running around, laughing and trying to catch the petals. He was worth fighting for. She smiled and a tear ran down her cheek.

 

The pink mindscape faded to black when she opened her eyes to wipe the tear away and found three prisoners seated near her, meditating as well. When they opened their eyes and saw her shocked expression, they bowed their heads and raised their right hands to their hearts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and commenting  
> your comments always make my day <3


	12. F***ing Tourist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erikson finally talks to Jules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [avidbeader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader) for beta reading and awesomeness.

Erikson’s heart pounded as Moore turned onto the quiet street and idled in front of the familiar house. “Is this it?”

 

He confirmed with an anxious nod.

 

“Well, if a little good news will ease your nerves, the satellite is transmitting,” Moore said with a grin, showing his phone to Erikson. “You want me to come with you?”

 

Erikson nodded again while gathering his courage, the advice from his friends replaying in his head.  _ Be yourself but don’t take yourself too seriously. Be straightforward and admit your mistakes. Tell him how you feel but listen to what he has to say. You have nothing to lose. _

 

He knocked on the door and waited. A girl, who Erikson vaguely recognized from photographs, answered the door. “Hi... You must be Jules’ cousin. Um… Monica, right?”

 

Monica nodded and, with a hand on her hip, shot him an unbecoming sneer. “And you must be the sugar daddy.”

 

Erikson stuttered with confusion. “Um, sugar- What?! Sugar daddy? What are you talking about? I’m not even- I’m actually younger than Jules. What makes you think that?”

 

“You took him to nice restaurants all the time, paid his rent, paid off most of his car...”

 

 _Don’t argue._ _Don’t make a bad impression._ “Well… whatever. That’s not how it was but- Is he home?”

 

“He’s at work.”

 

“What? Why is he working? I told him he didn’t need to get a job, I’d just-”

 

Monica laughed and interrupted. “See? Sugar daddy. Oh, and stop sending those flowers. They’re beautiful but I’m allergic.”

 

“Um… OK. Where does he work?”

 

“I don’t know if I should tell you.”

 

“Please. I just want to apologize,” Erikson pleaded.

 

“Well…” she hesitated. “He’s working at the Blue Door. It’s a cafe in Venice Beach. The owners are friends of his and they’re short-staffed. He’s going to be pissed if you try to talk to him while he’s working, though.” 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Moore search for the address on his phone. “Well, when will he be back?”

 

“He’s going to campus after work. And he’s got a date tonight.” She was probably lying. But it still stung. 

 

Erikson’s lip curled. “With Nick?”

 

“I don’t know,” Monica waved her hand. “I can’t remember all their names.”

 

_ All. More than one. _ Jealousy threatened his composure, but he quickly pulled himself together. “OK, well… Thanks, I guess. Let him know I stopped by.”

 

Back at the car, Erikson punched the seat before sitting down. 

 

“So, we’re going from Plan A to… what is this, Plan E? F?” Moore asked, pulling up directions.

 

Erikson groaned. “I think it’s ‘Plan F’ or ‘John Cusak that shit’ according to Woolf.”

 

Moore laughed. “I should’ve tried to find a boombox from the eighties for you. You’re not actually going to play ‘In Your Eyes,’ are you?”

 

“No, Jules hates that song,” Erikson said, holding his forehead. “I don’t even know the right songs to play… I should’ve brought Woolf.”

 

“Hey! I know music, I can google shit.”

 

\-----

 

They had to be back in Arizona tonight. This was it. One chance. At a coffee shop. And gluten-free bakery. Owned by vegan lesbians. Packed with college students. _ Fuck me.  _ True to its namesake, the cafe had a blue door which was plastered with pride flags and PETA slogans. 

 

Erikson considered the situation. Maybe this would be easier rather than talking. He had never been eloquent in these situations and Jules had always communicated with songs anyway. Like the night at Shiro’s going-away party, he’d played “Don’t You Want Me” by Human League. And there was that huge argument they’d had when they were living together. Jules had locked himself in the bathroom and played “Liar” by Rollins Band on repeat until Erikson had ripped the speaker out of the wall. (Calmly unplugging it just wouldn’t have been as satisfying.) And there was that other time Jules had played “Dumb Fuck” by Peaches when-

 

“You ready?” Moore interrupted Erikson’s thoughts.

 

Erikson’s hand hovered over the door knob. He reminded himself of Jules’ smile, the way he smelled, and the comforting feeling of waking up next to him after their routine afternoon naps. Despite coping with Shiro’s reported death and their frequent arguments, it was still the simplest and happiest time in his life. 

 

He opened the door.

 

It was loud for a coffee shop. Only one other person stood in line, waiting to order, but there were no employees behind the cash register or the adjacent bakery counter. Marina and the Diamonds’ “Bubblegum Bitch” played overhead. Erikson smiled to himself. Jules was definitely controlling the music.

 

_ I’ll chew you up and I'll spit you out _

_ 'Cause that's what young love is all about _

_ So pull me closer and kiss me hard _

_ I'm gonna pop your bubblegum heart _

 

Moore nudged Erikson to wait in line. His heart skipped a beat when he heard Jules’ laughter coming from the back room and his breath caught in his throat when the object of his desire walked out to the cash register, carrying a crate of supplies for his coworker. 

 

He was perfect. But he looked different. He’d dyed his hair back to his natural black and he looked like he’d lost weight. The incredibly low-cut armholes of his light pink tank revealed a bruise on his waist when he shifted just so. 

 

After the person in front had paid for their iced coffee, Erikson stepped up to the register. Jules’ eyes went wide with shock.

 

“Hey,” Erikson whispered.

 

“What are you doing here?” Jules hissed as two more people stepped in line behind Moore.

 

“I just wanted to talk to you. Or… at least see you, Jules. I miss you.”

 

Jules indignantly crossed his arms. “I’m busy.”

 

“Please talk to me. I want to fix things.”

 

Jules unleashed. “You had a year to fix your shit and every time we argued, you’d never admit that you were in the wrong and you’d never admit that you acted embarrassed to be around me in certain public places. Or admit how you felt-”

 

“But I told you eventually, didn’t I? I told you in Boston.”

 

“It was too little, too fucking late. And I’m sorry you have a shitty father and had to go through what you went through, but at the end of the day, you’re still a spoiled rich kid and the only reason you’re being persistent with me now is because you’re not getting what you want.” Jules took his finger out of Erikson’s face and looked past him. “There’s a line, are you going to order something? I can’t stand here and chitchat with you.”

 

“Let me make it up to you. Let me fix it.”

 

“I’ve heard this all before. Order something or leave, Jesper.”

 

Disappointed, Erikson obeyed. “Espresso macchiato. Just a little milk.”

 

“Almond, rice, hemp, coconut, or soy.”

 

“What the-”  _ Vegan… right.  _ “Ugh, whatever,” Erikson huffed. 

 

Jules walked along the counter to prepare the drink while Erikson followed him and tried for simpler topics of conversation. “How’s your thesis going?”

 

“I’m behind,” Jules answered tersely.

 

“How are  _ you _ ?”

 

“Fine.” 

 

Erikson couldn’t mask his concern any longer. “Are you… are you losing weight?” 

 

Jules froze and drew his lips into a tight line before waving his hand to dismiss the observation. “It’s just a new medication.” He quickly turned his back to finish his ex-friend-with-benefits’ order.

 

“Medication? For what?”

 

Jules turned back around and slammed an espresso spoon down. “I’m on PrEP. I’m just having worse than normal side effects, my doctor said they should go away soon.”

 

“What’s PrEP?”

 

“Truvada. It’s fucking Truvada,” Jules hissed impatiently.

 

“Isn’t that an antiretroviral?” As the words left his lips, Erikson’s heart stopped for a split-second at the implication. 

 

But Jules was fuming. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. It’s preventative. I didn’t give you HIV,” he spat.

 

“No. No, that’s not what I was thinking,” Erikson lied.

 

“Oh, no. That’s exactly what was going through your head. This is what I’m talking about! You don’t  _ fucking _ know! You have no  _ fucking _ idea what PrEP is. You have no  _ fucking _ idea what it’s like to be a queer minority. You’re just having fun without actually having to live my life. You get bored with your status quo and need a temporary distraction and this time it was a queer Filipino instead of drugs or whatever else you do to rebel against your family. This is my life. You’re a fucking tourist. I’m done talking to you. That’ll be six dollars.”

 

Erikson was speechless so he quietly followed Jules back to the cash register and handed over his credit card. “Um, put his drink on it, too,” he said, gesturing towards Moore before stepping away in a daze.

 

Jules froze, not realizing that Moore had tagged along. “Hey, Jules!” Moore waved innocently, pretending he hadn’t overheard their hushed argument. “Can I get an iced latte with almond milk?”

 

He eyed the boy with glasses suspiciously. “Are you here to hack me?”

 

“Um… No- Well… Nothing malicious,” he admitted. “I won’t touch your photos or social media.”

 

The carmel tones of Jules’ skin drained from his face as he backed away from the register. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, turning to make Moore’s latte. 

 

“What’s the wifi password?” Moore asked while he plucked a few sugar packets from a basket on the counter and accepted his drink.

 

“It’s printed on the receipt,” Jules responded with defeat in his voice. Moore nodded and accepted said piece of paper along with Erikson’s American Express.

 

“Maybe we should just go,” Erikson said uneasily when Moore joined him at a table by the bookshelves of feminist literature.

 

“No fucking way, dude. You’re not backing down now,” Moore said, opening his laptop, connecting to the network, and effortlessly gaining access to Jules’ smartphone. “What’s your first song?”

 

Erikson shook his head, grasping for the mindset he’d had when he walked into the coffee shop ten minutes earlier. He was lost without Jules and he was determined to get him back. “He’ll get the picture if we start with ‘Don’t You Want Me’. He’s played it to catch my attention before.”

 

They watched Jules work behind the counter and pause when he realized that the eighties new wave song playing did not belong in his indie electropop playlist. He glanced over to where Erikson and Moore sat while a few college students sang along.

 

_ Don't, don't you want me? _

_ You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me _

 

Jules rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping across his face. 

 

Moore nodded with a confident smirk. “Strong start. Let’s see what he comes back with.” 

 

When the song ended, Jules grabbed his phone and queued up a song. Moore’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Fleetwood Mac?” But it became clear when Jules made eye contact and sang along with the lyrics that made him select this particular song.

 

_ Thunder only happens when it's raining  _

_ Players only love you when they're playing  _

 

“Oh, come on! I’m not a player, that’s ridiculous,” Erikson complained. “OK, Moore. Play Bestcoast. ‘Boyfriend.’”

 

Moore’s nerdy comment of “Now I know how Alexa feels,” fell on deaf ears while Erikson waited to make eye contact with Jules.

 

The dark-haired boy stared in disbelief when Erikson blushed as he mouthed along with the dreamy vocals.

 

_ I wish he was my boyfriend _

_ I wish he was my boyfriend _

_ I'd love him to the very end  _

_ But instead he is just a friend _

_ I wish he was my boyfriend _

 

Quickly regaining his composure and trying to stay mad, Jules played his selection when it was his turn. “He’s playing ‘Rollercoaster,’” Moore announced. The sunny intro by the Bleachers faded for Charli XCX’s voice:

 

_ It was summer when I saw your face _

_ But like a teenage runaway _

_ Oh god I never thought we'd take it that far _

_ Some killer queen you are… _

 

_ Rollercoaster, I don't say no _

_ Rollercoaster, when you don't say no _

_ And it's such a rollercoaster... _

 

Erikson understood. He had always been erratically hot and cold with Jules. It was the reason they fought all the time.  _ Be straightforward and admit your mistakes.  _ Celine’s advice came to mind as Erikson contemplated his next move. The ending of the song he had in mind might bite him but if he could get Jules’ attention at the right part... “OK. Tegan and Sara. ‘Back In Your Head.’”

 

_ When I jerk away from holding hands with you _

_ I know these habits hurt important parts of you _

_ Remember when how sweet and unexplainable _

_ Nothing like this person unloveable _

 

_ I just want back in your head _

_ I just want back in your head _

_ I'm not unfaithful but I'll say _

_ When I get a little scared… _

 

Jules had to understand. He’d been there. And at a younger and more vulnerable age. But he didn’t have to battle the boundaries and self-identity that had been ingrained in Erikson’s adult ego by the time they’d met.

 

Erikson stood to approach the counter again since the line had died down and Jules was pretending to be busy by taking inventory of the novelty sprinkles with one of the girls working on the bakery side of the shop. “Jules, can you hear me out?”

 

Jules shook his head and didn’t look up. He wasn’t budging and Erikson was getting desperate. He pulled up the music app on his phone and located ABBA. “Don’t make me do it,” Erikson joked, showing the screen to Jules.

 

Jules finally looked up at the blonde boy’s screen. “You wouldn't dare. I hate ABBA.”

 

“Hmm.. ‘Take A Chance On Me’ or ‘Lay All Your Love On Me,’” Erikson teased.

 

“I don’t think so. It’s my turn anyway,” Jules said tapping on his phone’s screen. He held it up to threaten Erikson with “Toxic” by Britney Spears.

 

“Because you’re addicted to me?” Erikson tried to joke.

 

“Because you’re toxic!” Jules snapped. “Please stop this silly game. Just leave me alone.”

 

“Jules, I can’t. I meant what I wrote in all of my texts. I realize I was shitty before but… I really do love you. I don’t want to hurt you ever again. Please give me another chance.”

 

Jules just shook his head; Erikson thought he saw his chin quiver for a moment. “I meant what I said, too. Your friends will all have wives and kids in a couple years and you’re going to question this relationship. I already told you, you’re just being persistent because you’re not getting your way.”

 

“That's not how I feel, Jules. Don't put words in my mouth.”

 

“You are going to change your mind one day. I'm just protecting myself,” he said, queuing up his next selection by CSS.

 

_ You could have it all _

_ You could have it all! _

_ But then what's left for me? _

_ You could have it all _

_ You could have it all! _

_ But then what's left of me? _

 

All three of the girls portioning vegan custard into miniature tins started singing. Jules turned away to help the girls without looking back at Erikson. 

 

Disheartened, Erikson walked back and slumped down in his seat, trying to think of his next song. He was distracted by Jules picking up a spatula and singing along with the bridge of the song, looking right at Erikson.

 

_ Oh-no! There he comes bringin' it all up _

_ Oh-no! There he comes like a sore thumb _

_ Oh-no! There he go tryin' to fix it up _

_ Oh-no.... Here you go... Here you go… _

 

_ You could have it all _

_ You could have it all! _

_ But then what's left for me? _

 

Every song that came to Erikson’s mind for a rebuttal described love at a physical level but not at the emotional level he needed to communicate to Jules. Moore sensed his predicament and his fingers began flying over his keyboard. “What about The Cure?” he asked, flipping his screen so Erikson could read the lyrics to “Love Song”.

 

“You’re a genius. Play it.”

 

“See? You don’t need Woolf.”

 

_ Whenever I'm alone with you _

_ You make me feel like I am home again _

_ Whenever I’m alone with you _

_ You make me feel like I am whole again... _

 

Jules struggled not to look up and continued to busy himself.

 

_ However far away _

_ I will always love you _

_ However long I stay _

_ I will always love you _

_ Whatever words I say _

_ I will always love you _

 

Shaking his head and knitting his brow, Jules snatched his phone. The song he played wasn’t cheeky or angry. It sounded heartfelt. And melancholy.

 

_ Please could you be tender and I will sit close to you _

_ Let's give it a minute before we admit that we're through _

 

_ Fuck,  _ Erikson thought.  _ Please don’t shut down.  _ He tried to get Jules to look in his direction while Lorde’s vocals carried across the cafe.

 

_ When you've outgrown a lover _

_ The whole world knows but you _

_ It's time to let go of this endless summer afternoon _

 

Erikson felt completely depressed by the ending of the song but was caught off guard when it transitioned to an upbeat tempo. “Wait, two songs? That’s cheating,” he complained.

 

“It’s technically the same track,” Moore answered. “It’s ‘Hard Feelings/Loveless.’”

 

Now Jules made eye contact. 

 

_ 'Cause I'm gonna mess your life up _

_ Gonna wanna tape my mouth shut _

_ Look out, lovers _

 

_ L.O.V.E.L.E.S.S. _

_ Generation _

_ All fuckin' with our lover's heads _

 

Jules purposefully raised the spatula he was singing into earlier so that it was parallel to the counter, opened his hand, and let it drop with a clatter. Abruptly turning on his heel, he walked into the back room.

 

“What the fuck was that?!” Erikson asked.

 

“Mic drop,” Moore said. “He’s done.”

 

“Fuck! He’s so fucking stubborn.” Erikson dropped his head in his hands. “That didn’t go well at all.”

 

“Well… What do you want to do?” Moore asked timidly.

 

“It’s like you said… he’s done,” Erikson sighed. The speakers in the cafe went silent when the song finished. He waited for ten minutes praying that Jules would come back out. 

 

But he never did. 

 

“OK… I’m ready to go. Can you play one more song, just in case he’ll listen while he’s back there?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

The song was a little unconventional since it was technically about suicide. But if this was goodbye, then the lyrics to this song spelled out exactly how Jesper felt. And if Jules caught on to the subject matter, maybe it would remind him that he was one of the few people on Earth that knew his darkest secret.

 

\-----

 

Jules slid down the wall until he was seated on the floor, fighting back tears, trying to convince himself that he was right, no matter how hard it hurt. This was just a phase for Jesper. It would pass. And if Jules fell for all these love songs then he’d be the one alone in the end. And it would hurt even more.

 

The smell of custard tarts baking wafted into the back and brought about a wave of nausea. Jules clutched at his stomach and cursed. None of the other people he knew on PrEP had these kinds of side-effects. He’d hardly eaten anything in the past ten days. Although being behind in rent, pushing out his graduation date a full year because of his lack of progress, and hopelessly missing Jesper probably weren’t helping either. 

 

When the urge to vomit finally subsided, Jules calmed down and tried to figure out what to do. Jesper would give up if he waited out of sight long enough. He grabbed the inventory clipboard and decided to do some work in the back while keeping an eye on the front cash register. But his ears perked up at the sound of a vaguely familiar Glass Animals track. It didn’t make sense why Jesper would play this song, it didn’t have anything to do with- And then words hit him like a ton of bricks.

 

_ I want to hold you like you're mine _

 

Tears pricked his eyes again.

 

_ You're gone but you're on my mind _

_ I'm lost but I don't know why _

 

Knowing they would never be together made his heart feel empty. Maybe he should cancel his date and spend the evening talking things out with Jesper. Maybe the guy really  _ would _ change. Maybe it was worth the chance. Jules wiped his eyes and walked out front again but all he saw was the back of Jesper’s head. Outside of the shop. Walking away. 

 

_ You're gone but you're on my mind _

_ I'm lost but I don't know why _

_ You're gone but you're on my mind _

_ I'm lost but I don't know why _

 

_ \----- _

 

“Tough crowd. OK, how about this one?” Elise polled the table by displaying another photograph on her phone.

 

Celine looked at the next candidate’s dating site profile picture. “Meh. He looks boring.”

 

“Why? I think he looks like a nice guy,” Woolf responded. “You should message him.”

 

“He’s just OK,” Lourdes offered when it was her turn.

 

Su remained expressionless as she judged the anonymous guy’s photo. “He looks like a lawyer.”

 

“So… no?” Elise asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Dammit, Su!” Elise cursed as she read the guy’s bio. “He  _ is _ a lawyer!” She turned her phone towards Medina. “What do you think, Diego?” Earlier in the week, Elise had forgotten Medina’s actual name and called him Diego. And much to his chagrin, it stuck.

 

“You gotta stop calling me that, Hamptons,” Medina shot back.

 

Elise ignored him and swiped her screen. “Well, Elliot, it’s three-against-one and Diego’s vote still wouldn't have helped had he participated. OK, what about this guy?”

 

“Hot!” Celine said. “Definitely message him.”

 

“What?! He’s not cute at all!” Woolf argued playfully.

 

Lourdes smiled at their interaction. “I’m sorry Elliot, I concur.”

 

Su shrugged.

 

Medina ignored.

 

“It’s a tie, but I’ll message him,” Elise said as their drinks were delivered to the table. When the server left, Elise dug into her bag, located a small flask, and poured liquor into her Diet Coke. 

 

“You  _ brought _ alcohol? To a pub? You could’ve just ordered a drink,” Medina commented with irritation.

 

“Oh, mind your own damn business. It’s cheaper this way,” Elise said, pouring the rest of the flask into his glass and topping off his rum and coke. “How do you think I make rent every month? Bottom’s up, kiddo.”

 

Medina snorted. “Loca.”

 

“I know what that means.”

 

“I know you know what that means.” Medina looked away but sipped his new concoction. He then spotted Moore entering the pub and waved him over.

 

Celine wasn’t sure if Moore had checked in on their progress during his trip so she excitedly pulled up her satellite monitoring app as he pulled a chair up to the booth. “Hey guys,” he greeted.

 

“Did you see?!” 

 

“I know, I saw!” Moore said. “You guys did it!”

 

“For some reason, I still can’t believe it’s working.”

 

Woolf checked the time on Celine’s phone. “You made good time from L.A. Did Erikson stay?”

 

Moore sank a little in his chair. “No… he’s back at the hotel.”

 

“Oh…” The table fell quiet.

 

“He made a good effort, but Jules had already made up his mind.”

 

“Is he OK?” Celine asked.

 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. We had a long time to talk on the way home… He told me a bunch of stuff but I don’t think he would’ve told me if he had any intention of-” he cut off. Celine watched the three women look down knowing that whatever Moore wanted to tell the rest of the group was none of their business.

 

Moore stretched in his chair and switched subjects. “That was a long drive to do round trip in one day. I desperately need a beer when the server comes back.” 

 

Medina slid his drink over to Moore. “I’ll flag him down if I see him.”

 

Moore took a sip of the drink Medina had offered and almost spit it out. “What the- That’s waaay too strong!! Is that rum  _ and _ whisky? That was disgusting! Why would you order that?!”

 

Medina and Elise snickered together. “It’ll put hair on your chest,” she said.

 

Moore wrinkled his nose and slid the drink away. “Oh, I’m a lost cause. And Medina’s hairy enough, he doesn’t need more.”

 

“He had a full chest of hair by the time he was three,” Woolf added, laughing. 

 

Celine laughed along with the rest of the group as she looked around the table. Elise nudged Medina who shook his head but smiled. He was loosening up. Even Su had a slight grin on her face.

 

Although Erikson and Jules were absent, it felt like things were slowly coming together. The satellite was transmitting. The group was starting to get along. She smiled knowing that Keith and Shiro would eventually have a proper support team if and when the time came.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that didn’t hurt too badly…  
> Also, I’d like to note that I exaggerated the side effects of PreP and Jules’ side effects were exacerbated by the other things going on in his life. This preventative medication can reduce rates of HIV incidence and save lives and I don’t want to give it a bad rap.
> 
> Lyrics quoted were obviously not mine and might be slightly inaccurate, all the websites out there have conflicting lyrics and I’m shocked that many artists to not have lyrics on their websites. 
> 
> On a lighter note you can check out the sequence of songs in a playlist I threw together on spotify:  
> [Erikson+Jules](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/4ebQVNl7TPAdYO1J62z06m)  
> In love and angst, a battle of the exes  
> If you're so inclined and have the time, I feel like it helps to listen to the songs for the full effect. I've also added other songs I considered using as well as some angsty break-up songs.
> 
> And of course, while I was at it, I made a few playlists for the the other main characters. I will get around to a Strengths and Weakness playlist but I had fun compiling songs that fit each OC’s personality. Moore’s playlist is my favorite.
> 
> [Rebel with a Computer:Moore](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/0eMbhNNOpaT2vPC4mcgeHY)  
> Politically charged and rebelliously funky. Moore totally blasts this playlist while hacking the Garrison.
> 
> [Grrls Rock:Celine](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/2uSzKnf8QvUgCfbpOe6IOf)  
> These ladies rock. And so does Celine.
> 
> [Urban Jungle:Medina](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/0dBZ0lo7XwUxY8Roc6xRf1)  
> High energy, random, and a little obnoxious. Just like Medina. A mix from the international concrete jungles of the world.
> 
> [Lover and a Fighter:Woolf](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/0uGechvgDtCYCeFywiKPwW)  
> A feel-good indie/alternative playlist for a certain smitten boy from Seattle.
> 
> If the links don’t work, totally my fault. Everything should be here under this profile: https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a  
> Or yell at me on tumblr [@latart](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/latart)


	13. We deserve the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medina is acting suspicious. Erikson’s statement is released. Moore and Lourdes get to know each other while doing some reconnaissance. Woolf and Celine make an interesting discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems like it’s all over the place, I’m just trying to cover a few things before shit gets real.
> 
> Thanks to [avidbeader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader) for beta reading

Medina came home during lunch. It was getting more and more difficult to make small talk with his co-workers so it was easier to eat at home or skip lunch and go to one of the gyms on campus to blow off steam. His department now had meetings twice a week to address the “inaccuracies” of the information being leaked to the public and the manner in which the media was reporting it. The explanations and evidence they presented were always complete bullshit and he left the meetings wanting to punch someone. He wondered how many of the senior officers actually knew what was going on. How many of them believed these lies? How long could this possibly keep going on?

 

He was sitting at the kitchen table eating leftovers when something dawned on him. His house was completely quiet. Normally “loud, crowded, and chaotic” wasn’t something that bothered Medina. He’d grown up the middle child in a family of five in a two-bedroom apartment on one of the busiest avenues in Queens. But now, it felt like the crazier things got at work, the crazier it was back at his house. He didn’t mind having everyone at his place, he just didn’t realize how much he’d missed a little peace and quiet.

 

Then he heard the hinges on the back door creak open.  _ Nevermind…  _ The surprisingly enjoyable silence of his house was interrupted when Elise walked in from the backyard in a black bathing suit and enormous sunhat. And sunglasses, of course. 

 

“Hamptons, what are you doing here? I thought you were out with the others.”

 

“Nah. That tiny-ass plane’s a little scary,” she answered as she made herself a drink. “I don’t have access to a private backyard at home. Totally beats laying out in the park with all the creepers watching you.”

 

“Well, I’m happy that you’re happy,” he said sarcastically.

 

“You having one?” she offered, holding up the liquor bottle.

 

“I can’t, I gotta get back to work.”

 

Elise sat down with her drink and placed  the bottle and an  e mpty glass in front of Medina. “You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you?”

 

“Something tells me that’s not out of the ordinary for you,” he said, pushing the rocks glass away. “I have a meeting at 14:00.” He strategically scooped equal parts rice, red pepper, and chicken on his fork and then looked back up at Elise. “Did you eat?”

 

“No.”

 

“Do you... want something?”

 

“I’m not that hungry. I’m trying to lose weight anyway.”

 

Medina eyed her drink and snorted. “Liquid diet?”

 

“Yep. An alcoholic beverage or two for breakfast, another three for lunch, and a sensible dinner,” Elise joked in a tone of voice suitable for a weight-loss commercial.

 

“I lost nine pounds and all my friends in just four weeks,” Medina mocked. 

 

“Drop ten inches off your waistline and ten years off your life. Guaranteed,” Elise added.

 

Medina barked a laugh. “Cut your dress size  _ and _ your liver function in half or your money back.”

 

Elise snickered and held up her drink with an exaggerated smile. “My liver’s fucked! Thanks, alcohol.”

 

Their laughter drowned out the sound of another car pulling into the driveway. The back door suddenly opened and Nadia stepped into the kitchen. 

 

_ Shit... Did I miss something? _ “Hey, babe! What are you doing here?” Medina fought the instinct to quickly get up from the table, knowing that it would make the scene she’d just walked into that much more suspicious. 

 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?! We were supposed to meet at the caterer twenty minutes ago! I’ve been trying to call you. I drove past your house to see if you were home for lunch.”

 

“Shit. Sorry,  my phone’s been on silent since my last meeting .” 

 

“Diego, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Elise said before introducing herself.

 

Nadia crossed her arms. “I’m his fiancè.”

 

“You’re engaged?! Congrats! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

 

Nadia narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, Dani, why didn’t you tell her?”

 

_ Fuck me… _ “Uh… Well- It’s just…” Medina knew he didn’t have a good explanation. “I thought the caterer was  _ next _ Monday.”

 

“It was  _ today _ .” She was pissed. 

 

Medina pulled his phone out of his back pocket to check his calendar while Elise quietly snuck outside with her drink. “Babe, I swear I put it in my calendar. I must’ve put the wrong date. I’m sorry.”

 

Nadia huffed an exasperated breath. “Dani, seriously? Did you forget about our dinner tonight, too?”

 

Medina checked his phone again. “No. I have that in here. I don’t know what happened, I’m just-”

 

“Distracted?” she tersely interjected.

 

“No…” 

 

Nadia narrowed her eyes and nodded towards the door Elise had just walked out of. “Who the  _ fuck _ is that?”

 

“I told you about Wes’ friends that were coming by for the week.”

 

“You said there was  _ one _ . And that she’s black.”

 

“Yeah… She is. She brought a friend.”

 

“And why the fuck is she calling you Diego?”

 

“Oh it’s kind of an… inside joke.”

 

“You two have inside jokes already?”

 

“Uh… not really. It’s not much of a joke but-”

 

“And  these two girls are staying with you?”

 

“No. The three of them are staying at the motel down the street.”

 

“There’s  _ three _ ?”

 

_ Que Mierda.  _ “Yeah. I’m sorry. I know this… seems weird but-”

 

Nadia had that look in her eye. Like she was going to blow up but she was trying her damndest to contain it. “Where’s everyone else? Wes? Elliot? Celine?”

 

“They’re out. Doing… stuff.”  _ Spying on the shady government agency that pays my fucking bills.  _

 

“So it’s just the two of you  right now ?”

 

Medina accepted the fact that his only option at this point was give-up-and-apologize-fast-or-you’re-fucked. “Yeah… Look, I know I didn’t explain it well before but- I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hide anything, shit’s just been crazy lately. But dinner is in my calendar. And I’ll make sure the next wedding appointment is in my calendar, too.”

 

Nadia sighed. “OK… I need to get back to work. You’re picking me up at seven for dinner, right?” she told him more than asked before walking out the door, not waiting for an answer.

 

\-----

 

As the sun began to set, Moore reviewed the final minutes of the video before releasing it to the public.

 

“...I was at Mission Control the night before the announcement. I personally reviewed the video feeds from the ship. There were no explosions. No signs of damage. I was told to say things to the press that I did not agree with. I was ordered to make statements that were blatantly false based on the evidence I had personally reviewed. 

 

“Captain Takashi Shirogane was one of my best friends and that security camera footage from the night a Z-9 emergency code was issued? The night an alien space pod crashed near the Galaxy Garrison? That’s him. That’s him warning us that a hostile alien race is coming. And the Garrison is doing nothing about it. 

 

“I don’t know who is behind the videos that have been released thus far, but this elite group of hackers have uncovered some disturbing truths and the Galaxy Garrison has some explaining to do. This issue transcends the boundaries that divide our planet into countries, races, and religions. We as an entire planet deserve an impartial investigation by an international coalition. We deserve answers. We deserve the truth.”

 

Moore grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Elite group of hackers? You flatter me.”

 

Erikson snickered and grinned back.

 

Moore’s finger hovered over the upload button on the touchscreen. “You know… they’re going to dig up anything they can about you to discredit your statement.”

 

“I know... It is what it is.”

 

Moore nodded. The two watched the status bar as the video uploaded.

 

\-----

 

Gwansun startled at what seemed to be a premonition. She opened her eyes and there were now four people meditating alongside her. None of them looked like the person from her vision.

 

Just like a dream, it felt as if she had to grasp at the vague image before it flitted away completely. She was fighting someone among the rose-colored tones of her psychic realm. As she chased the image it became clear that it was more like sparring. Training. It was a young man with blonde hair. He wasn’t a guard. She’d  made a point to  memorize all of their faces. He wasn’t a prisoner. She could spot her own a mile away. It was someone  she’d maybe seen before… perhaps in the news or in passing. But someone she’d never met.

 

At least, not yet.

 

\-----

 

“Mommy!”

 

Nadia stilled, listening to see if Shawn would call for her again. Medina caught his breath while he slowed the momentum of his thrusts.

 

“Mommy!!”

 

“I gotta see what he wants,” Nadia whispered.

 

Medina groaned. “He’s fine. You can’t run in there every single time he calls you, babe.”

 

“Mommy!!!”

 

“I’ll be right back,” she promised with a quick kiss.

 

Medina sighed and reluctantly pulled out. “OK. Hurry back,” he said, kissing her shoulder before she pulled on her clothes to check on Shawn. 

 

After soothing Shawn back to sleep a few minutes later, Nadia closed Shawn’s door and paused. Rather than returning to her bedroom, she turned and walked into the bathroom.

 

That nagging, sinking feeling in her gut was back. She crumpled down onto the toilet seat and couldn’t help but cry. Again. Something was wrong. Dani was becoming increasingly distant.

 

Maybe she should have listened to her friends. They had all been shocked when she told them she was engaged to the younger boy who was merely supposed to be a rebound when she was going through her divorce four years ago.

 

The tears streamed down her cheeks as she remembered him  from years back: the young, cocky guy that came into her branch once a month to wire money to an obscure bank in a remote part of Colombia. As one of the branch managers, she had to sign off on these odd monthly transfers and the reason behind the routine wiring of money to Colombia became a running joke among her co-workers even though she could see that his direct deposits came from the Galaxy Garrison. But he could have any number of jobs there. The story floating around her office was that he was sending drug money back to the family cartel. Maybe he was in charge of the local drug dealers. Or maybe he was one of the cartel’s falcons. For simplicity’s sake, he was quickly dubbed the “Colombian Drug Lord” at the bank. And whatever the reason for his monthly visits, his biceps, flirtatious demeanor, and mischievous eyes were a welcome reprieve from the mundanity of Nadia’s job.

 

A month after being served divorce papers, Nadia was in the bank’s rear parking lot, hauling shopping bags from the errands she’d run after work. Her husband had left her for his assistant and she suddenly found herself a stressed-out single mom, fighting for child support and arranging last-minute child care for her eighteen-month-old son. A man in Garrison uniform walked up and offered to help her after she’d fumbled and dropped her key fob onto the pavement.

 

It was the Colombian Drug Lord. Apparently he was an officer at the Garrison; she’d just never seen him in uniform and without his stupid Yankees hat.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Medina. Or I guess I should say  _ Sergeant _ Medina,” she said, reading his ID while he relieved her of her heavy bags. “I guess you don’t work for a drug cartel after all,” she joked.

 

“Drug cartel?” he asked with an amused grin.

 

“You come in every month and send money to a rural Colombian bank that only has two other branches and no website.”

 

He laughed. “I never thought about it, but that  _ does  _ sound suspicious. My uncle has some gambling issues and I’m trying to help him out with his bills. He doesn’t want the rest of the family to know about it.”

 

“Oh… That’s… really sweet of you. You know, you could probably have your uncle just talk to the bank about setting up recurring transfers. Could save you some time,” she offered while he loaded her shopping bags into the back of her SUV.

 

“ I could... But then I wouldn’t get to see you.” 

 

Their fingers brushed when he handed the key fob back and she let her gaze linger a little too long because, damn, he looked good in that uniform. The boy bit back another one of his cocky smirks, probably because he could read her like a book.

 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at the bank in a few weeks. Thanks for your help,” she said, trying to recover. 

 

“Actually... what are you doin’ tonight?” he asked.

 

_ Is he asking me out on a- _ She was abruptly brought back to reality when she had to answer. This was where she knew it would stop. Once he found out she had a toddler at home, he wasn’t going to be interested. She sighed. “I have a son so I need to pick him up at daycare, feed him, give him a bath, attempt to do  dishes and  laundry before I pass out from exhaustion… my usual night. Nothing exciting.” Not wanting to see his reaction, she opened the backseat door and threw her laptop on the floor. This was how life after her divorce was going to be. 

 

“Well... what are you doin’ right now? Daycare’s gotta be open for another thirty minutes or so, right?” Surprised, she turned around. He still had that sly grin on his face.

 

_ Yes. I have thirty minutes. Actually twenty minutes but-  _ Without second guessing herself, she yanked him by the collar into a bruising kiss. She felt his lips quirk into a smile against hers. The irresponsibility and rush of making out with a near-stranger prompted her pull him into the backseat of her SUV. He enthusiastically complied and laughed while she unbuckled his belt. 

 

“What are you laughing about?”

 

He giggled again. “I was talkin’ about getting coffee.”

 

‘Oh,” she said breathlessly, yanking open the button of his fly. “You want to get coffee instead?” 

 

“Fuuuuuck, no.” He looked her up and down with a hunger that she didn’t think she’d ever seen from her husband...  _ Ex _ -husband. “I like your idea better. Although I’m going to need avoid Commander Iverson or have a good excuse to explain why my uniform is so wrinkled,” he said, sliding his fingers underneath her pencil skirt. 

They fogged up the tinted windows and rearranged themselves within the confines of the backseat; Shawn’s rear-facing car seat wasn’t helping with the lack-of-space issue but the guy didn’t seem bothered by it. And the urgency with which he  grasped her hips and  kissed her made her forget about her divorce lawyer fees and piles of laundry... 

 

In a post-coital haze, she buttoned her blouse and attempted to make herself presentable to the outside world. “I don’t um, normally do this... kind of stuff,” Nadia stated for the record, smoothing her hands over her hair. 

 

“I’m not complaining,” Medina laughed as he wiped condensation off of the window and checked the parking lot. “Looks like the coast is clear. So… you’re still a no for dinner?” he asked, opening the door.

 

“Um… I didn’t say no… It’s just difficult getting someone to watch my son right now.” 

 

The sergeant nodded while he thought. “I could come over and make you dinner, if that’s easier.”

 

Nadia was shocked. “You… want to come over? And cook for me?”

 

“Yeah. As long as you like cilantro. You’re not one of those cilantro-haters are you? I can’t cook for you if you’re gonna hate on cilantro.”

 

“I uh… I like cilantro, I guess.” She chuckled at his odd passion for an herb that she was generally indifferent about

 

“OK. So does Saturday work for you?”

 

She was dumbfounded. She hadn’t scared this boy off with her marital status and uncharacteristic promiscuity. So she took him up on his offer.

 

Her friends had encouraged the relationship, although it barely qualified for that sort of label. After sporadically dating for six months, he started only calling her late at night  after he’d been out drinking with his friends .  It hurt at first, but she had pretended that she didn’t want to be exclusive. And  at least she had fun. He had been the perfect distraction to get through the divorce. And the look on her ex-husband’s face when he saw her with a younger, fitter guy was insanely satisfying.

 

But here she was four years later. Engaged to the guy who’d only begun to take her seriously ten months ago. Who was probably cheating on her. She clenched her eyes shut. She just couldn’t deal with this sort of betrayal all over again.

 

There was a sudden knock on the bathroom door. “Nadia?”

 

She quickly dried her eyes but it didn’t help. Her voice still trembled when she answered. “What?” 

 

“Baby, you OK?”

 

“Yeah,” she answered unconvincingly.

 

“I know you’re pooping in there,” Medina joked, knowing she was upset with him.

 

“I’m not pooping.”

 

“It’s OK. Everyone poops. I told you, you can poop in front of me, I don’t care.”

 

She snorted and rolled her eyes. He was always trying to make her laugh but sometimes it got annoying.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

She didn’t answer.

 

“Nadia… come on. Dígame.”

 

“Give  _ what  _ to you?” One would think that after four years she could understand the random Spanish words he threw at her.

 

“No. Diga. Talk. Tell me what’s up.” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I’m opening the door, babe.” Medina cautiously stepped into the tiny bathroom and knelt down next to Nadia. “You could have at least picked the closet, there’s a little more room in there.”

 

She looked down at the floor and tried not to laugh.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

The tears flowed again as she shook her head. “I don’t know… I just feel... old and boring.”

 

“What?! What are you talking about?”

 

“We’ve had sex once in the past month and when we finally have time, Shawn’s calling for me. You’ve got all these girls at your house now and I’m just old and divorced and...”

 

“Are you serious right now? Look, the blonde girl is older than you, I don’t know what you’re-”

 

“Yeah but she doesn’t have a kid and stretch marks and shit,” Nadia complained, gesturing at her abdomen. 

 

“That doesn’t matter. And she didn’t have to push a human being through her vagina. Are you serious right now? You’re gorgeous and perfect. And there’s  _ nothing _ going on with anyone.”

 

Nadia shrugged. She wanted to believe him. “I still feel like… I don’t know. Boring. I’ve lived here my whole life, I’ve worked at the stupid bank instead of actually using my degree, all of my friends are still single and going out and don’t have kids, and they don’t get it. And now there’s all these new girls hanging out at your place and and no one has the fucking responsibilities and baggage that I do and-”

 

“Babe, you’re not boring. You’re a grown-ass woman. You’re mature and have real-life shit to do. And you know I need someone like you to keep me in line.” He pushed up from the floor to stand on his knees so that he could kiss her cheek. “Girl, I wanna watch you rollover your 401K and compare life insurance policies,” he whispered seductively in her ear. 

 

Nadia barked a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”    

 

“I think I’m onto something here. It would be so hot if you refinanced your house right now,” he said, curling his lip and running his hands up her thighs.

 

“Don’t mock me.”

 

“I’m not! There’s probably a whole porn channel where they just record women doing their whole family’s taxes and running shit.” He then stood up and pretended to look around the bathroom with a pouty lip. “Oh, my son made such a mess. I’ma pick up this sippy cup,” he joked, bending over slowly to imitate a stripper. “Damn. This hurts my fucking hamstrings!”

 

“Shawn doesn’t use sippy cups anymore,” she laughed.

 

Medina looked up at her. “It’s got a lid, doesn’t it?”

 

“It’s a straw cup.”

 

“Doesn’t sound as sexy,” he teased before kneeling down and taking Nadia’s hands in his. “You and Shawn are the best things in my life. You know that? I love you and I don’t want anyone else. OK? Do you believe me?”

 

Nadia shrugged.

 

“Don’t make me drag your tight ass to City Hall tomorrow.  I will marry you on my lunch break.”

 

“Your mom would be so pissed,” Nadia managed as her eyes welled up again. He still wanted to get married.

 

“I don’t care. If all this wedding planning is too much then let’s just get married at City Hall and plan a party later.”

 

“Mommy?” Shawn peeked in from behind the door. 

 

“What’s up, baby?” she asked, wiping her tears again.

 

Shawn walked in and stood next to Medina who threw an arm around the boy. “Why are you crying, Mommy?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

 

Nadia watched as Shawn looked on with concern while resting his head on her fiancè’s shoulder. “Are you sad?” 

 

She crawled onto the floor to wrap her arms around her family, smiling through her tears. “No, I’m happy.” Medina kissed her temple and squeezed. They remained tangled in their embrace for a few moments and Nadia let her fears and doubt wash away.

 

After they got Shawn back to bed, Medina and Nadia sat in the quiet darkness of her bedroom. “I know it probably seems like I’ve been hiding stuff from you but… Work is just getting a little crazy and I don’t want you to be worried about anything. I’m just trying to protect you and Shawn,” Medina started. 

 

“Just tell me what’s going on.”

 

“I can’t. All I can say is that all the shit you’re hearing in the news is true. Those videos aren’t fake.”

 

Nadia felt a chill crawl up her spine as she thought of Shiro’s warning from the leaked footage she’d watched online. The Garrison had said he was dead. And they were denying the existence of alien life outside of the potential single-celled organisms on Kerberos. “Are we safe?”

 

“I… wish I could tell you. I wish I knew. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this shit without losing my job. These three girls that are here have some inside knowledge that could help. I’m sorry, I just- If you were ever questioned it would be better if you didn’t know anything. OK? Erikson’s releasing a statement tonight that will probably explain a little more.”

 

Nadia chewed the inside of her lip. “Is it Wes? Is he behind all this?”

 

Medina didn’t answer.

 

\-----

 

Erikson opened his eyes the following morning. He’d maybe slept an hour the entire night and had already agreed to four interviews. And now, he watched the rest of the media vans and reporters gather in the hotel’s parking lot. He rubbed his eyes. Today was going to be a long day.

 

\-----

 

Jules opened his eyes and rolled to his left side. Thankfully whoever he’d hooked up with last night had already left. He picked up his phone off the floor and sleepily glanced at his social media feeds and then the news before going downstairs to scrounge up some breakfast.

 

Jesper’s name was all over the headlines.

 

\-----

 

Rivali opened his eyes, engulfed by the depressing fog of the dawning of another workday. He reminded himself that this was what he’d wanted- leading and piloting a prominent deep space mission. 

 

The Garrison was acting in the country’s best interests. The camps were a matter of… “population ethics.” The buzz word still left a bitter taste in his mouth and weighed his entire body down as he considered the logistics of dragging himself out of bed. It was the promise of caffeine that mobilized him in a timely manner. 

 

As was routine, he flipped on the kitchen television while making his coffee. “Former Kerberos Press Secretary, Jesper Erikson, speaks out against the Galaxy Garrison in an alarming statement released last night.”

 

Rivali froze, eyes fixated on the video clips of Erikson on the morning news.

 

_ Just when I thought shit couldn’t get worse... Today’s going to be a long day.  _

 

He looked up at the ceiling as if he could gather more willpower from the condo’s modern ceiling tiles to get through the day that had barely even started. His eyes  zeroed in  on, what looked like, a tiny black spider in the corner that he’d noticed a few days ago.  _ The cleaning people should’ve gotten that, _ he thought.  _ Or it should’ve moved by now. _ He grabbed a bar stool to get a closer look.

 

It was actually a tiny square adhered to the fiber optic internet line running down from the ceiling. It wasn’t a bug in the sense that he’d initially thought. 

 

Someone was watching him. He just wasn’t sure if it was the Garrison or Wesley Moore…  _ That crafty little pain in the ass.  _ Rivali decided that his evening plans, should he survive the day, would involve a six-pack of beer and about one hundred twenty hours of home security camera footage.

 

\----- 

 

“There are two vehicles arriving,” Moore announced. Lourdes logged the time and details in a spreadsheet on Moore’s tablet. “What’s the average time right now?”

 

“About forty-five minutes.”

 

“All right. So, we’ll push off in about twenty minutes and try to follow this time,” Moore said. He then called out to the others, “Twenty minutes!!”

 

The two squinted at the desert terrain, watching the wind create new peaks and valleys in the sand from their position on the plane’s wing while they waited. “Have you thought about how the prisoners would communicate with us to let us know that they’ve received our messages or that they’re ready to act on our instructions?” Lourdes asked. “Even if our plan works, we can’t just sit out here every single day until we see people escaping from the underground tunnels.”

 

Moore hesitated. “Yeah… It’s tricky.  I had an idea but it might be a little… dumb.”

 

“Like disguising explosive chemicals into sugar packets?” Lourdes teased.

 

“Uh, first of all, that was your idea,” Moore playfully defended himself. “Anyway, I’m thinking that they fold things like napkins or any sort of paper into a particular shape. Let’s say triangles or something. When we see where these vehicles are going, eventually we’ll get to where the food waste is being disposed of. We’d have to monitor it each day. And if we saw a bunch of triangles then we’d know that they have the message and are preparing. And then there’d be a different shape, like stars, I don’t know, for when we need to be ready to swoop in the following day.”

 

Lourdes laughed out loud.

 

“What? I mean it’s a little weird but…”

 

“I’m just thinking about hundreds of Galra prisoners sitting around while Gwansun patiently teaches them to make paper stars,” she teased, nudging Moore’s shoulder. “Maybe we can include instructions and there will be a whole dumpster of adorable little paper cranes for you in a few weeks.”

 

Moore furrowed his brow at Lourdes. “I told you it was dumb but we don’t know if they even have access to writing utensils so if you have a better idea, then we might have to rely on origami.”

 

Lourdes briefly considered their dilema. “No, you’re probably right. Strategically folded paper goods might be our only option. Jong-i jeobgi is the Korean version of origami… Maybe Gwansun is well-versed in the art,” she said, trying to make him feel better. “I just thought you’d have an inside person that actually worked in the camps to help us but-”

 

“There’s no one else we can trust,” Moore interrupted.

 

“Back in New York, you said that you had  _ two _ people on the inside.”

 

Moore shook his head and checked the time. “He’s too risky. And unpredictable.”

 

“Oh…”

 

The two fell silent. Moore nervously cracked his knuckles and shook his foot as it dangled off the edge of the wing, trying to think of something to say while Lourdes sat comfortably taking in the novel landscape. “So…” Moore finally started. “Um. What, uh, were you doing in New York. Did you grow up there?”

 

“No, I grew up mostly in Tampa. My parents were climate refugees from Haiti.”

 

Moore mentally face-palmed, recalling the natural disasters that had inundated the Caribbean in the past forty years.  _ Oh, shit. I should’ve thought of that. So fucking stupid. _ “Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t even-”

 

“No, it’s OK. It’s the reality for any island in that region these days. They came here after that series of hurricanes thirty years ago. When I was ten we moved back, but then Haiti had all those tropical storms and more flooding. A lot of my family didn’t make it. Both of my parents died in a landslide, so my sister and I were sent to live with my grandmother back in Tampa.”

 

Moore was speechless. “I’m… wow. I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s all right. It was a long time ago. I’ve developed a thick skin since then. My parents never talked about being Galra. It was my grandmother that told me everything. I became so interested in Earth’s research for alien life and how the information conflicted with what had been passed down by word of mouth  through my people. I wanted to find my own answers but I also wanted to get away from Florida and start somewhere new when it came time to go to college. I was accepted into the astrophysics program at Columbia and so I moved to New York.”

 

Moore’s eyes widened.  _ Could she be any more perfect? _ “You’re an astrophysicist!? That’s so fucking cool. Are you sure you don’t want to marry me? We might have super-smart kids that could save the world.”  _ Fuck, why the hell would I say that? _

 

Lourdes chuckled. “I don’t want to get your hopes up. I couldn’t finish my degree. I got wrapped up in the Galra community in the city and was chosen to help protect Gwansun when she relocated. I just didn’t have time…”

 

“That’s still a fucking hard program to get into.”

 

“Well, whatever, doesn’t do me any good right now. What about you?” she asked, studying the amber and green flecks in his eyes. “Where are  _ you _ from?”

 

“Oh. I’m… We moved all over. My mom and dad work for this surgical robotics company. My mom’s a neurosurgeon and my dad’s an engineer. We were relocated every few years so they could set up the robots and train the staff at various hospitals. I was born in Kansas, then we moved to Tennessee, then Maryland, New York, back to Tennessee. And then I got accepted into the Garrison and moved to Arizona.”

 

“Oh. That’s interesting at least. I got so tired of being in the same town in Florida.”

 

“Eh... I got tired of moving all the time.”

 

“What’s your heritage, though? Where’s your family originally from?”

 

Moore waved his hand and shrugged. People usually wondered about his appearance but rarely asked. “I’m kind of a mutt. My dad’s Black but there’s some Puerto Rican and Irish in there somewhere. My mom’s family is Eastern European, mostly Bulgarian, Albanian, and Russian.”

 

Lourdes nodded and looked like she was gesturing towards his head. “Oh, that explains your-” 

 

“Hair? Yeah, I know. I don’t know what the fuck to do with it. If I let it get too long then Medina starts calling it a Jewfro even though my mom’s side of the family is mostly Muslim. But non-practicing. Well, except for around Ramadan, we have to pretend for my grandmother, but... I don’t know, I guess Muslimfro doesn’t sound as funny or-”

 

“No. I meant your eyes. They’re pretty.”

 

Moore stiffened awkwardly at the compliment and then looked down and twisted his hands.  _ She thinks my eyes are pretty.  _ “Oh. Uh... thanks.” Lourdes simply smiled and began looking around again. “I don’t know how long you girls are planning on sticking around but, is there anyone you need to get back to in New York or Tampa?” He hoped his inquiry didn’t sound too obvious.

 

“Not really.”

 

“Is your grandmother still around?”

 

“Yes. She’s knows what I’m doing here. She’s really the one who convinced me to come.”

 

“Oh. Cool. Um, any… like… significant others or anyone along those lines?”

 

Lourdes laughed again . “No, not at the moment. I’m taking a break from all of that. I’m not looking for any sort of relationship right now. It was difficult to date people and not be able to tell them about everything, about what I was doing. I couldn’t tell them who Gwansun and Su actually were. My last boyfriend thought I was cheating on him with Su which is… ridiculous.”

 

Moore snorted. “Actually, Medina thought something similar.”

 

“That she and I are together?”

 

“Yeah...”

 

Lourdes rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Of course he did.”

 

“Medina’s not bad if you learn not to take him too seriously. He doesn’t have much of a filter. They say that the frontal lobe of your cerebral cortex doesn’t fully develop until your early-to-mid twenties. I think Medina’s an outlier and is taking a little longer.” Lourdes just grunted and looked away while Moore tried to think of a different topic.  _ Just stop talking before you say something else stupid,  _ Moore thought to himself. He checked the time instead. “Twelve minutes guys!!” he shouted out. He then turned around to see if Woolf and Celine were on their way back from clearing sand off of the satellite’s solar panel to get it up and running again.

 

From a distance, he saw their figures standing on top of a boulder, waving him over. 

 

Moore hopped down off the wing first and offered his assistance to Lourdes even though she probably didn’t need it to get down. Lourdes accepted anyway and took his hand. He tried not to read too much into it. She’d just said she wasn’t interested in dating anyone right now.

 

Lourdes opened the plane door and peeked in at Su who was hiding her fair skin from the punishing sun and memorizing the tunnels marked on  the  topographical map. “You OK?” she asked her.

 

Su nodded, toying with her knife. “The old teleport hub is close by. We should check it out.”

 

“Definitely. We’re leaving soon to follow the food supply vehicles, but another day,” the dark-skinned girl responded. Moore had noticed how Su really only spoke in full sentences around Lourdes.

 

Moore battled the sand and gusting wind as he hurried towards the rock where Woolf and Celine stood. “Guys, we need to leave in five minutes if we’re going to follow those jeeps,” Moore shouted. Once he’d  scrambled up the boulder, he took in the more elevated vantage point. “What’s up?” Moore inquired. Celine looked like she’d seen a ghost and Woolf looked a little stunned as well.

“You need to see this,” Woolf said, gesturing to the west before handing over a pair of binoculars. Moore grabbed them and scanned the terrain. “What does that look like to you?” Woolf asked.

 

Moore halted when a small wooden shack came into focus. And next to it was a…  _ It couldn’t be. _

 

“Is that…” Moore started before ripping the binoculars away and looking at Woolf in disbelief. “That’s Shiro’s hoverbike!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!!!  
> Medina's a doll and it felt like we hadn’t heard much from him in a while so I decided to mostly focus on him for this chapter. Sorry for the cliffhanger but you guys know I do that shit by now.
> 
> I created a Rivali playlist: [Fight or Flight: Rivali](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/1PtWmk7lJnREOpzhF1HT9O)  
> The "Bigger Than Us" track by White Lies is what had inspired what he said to Celine in the server room. It's also the title of chapters 3 and 4 of Aftermath. And I’ll be updating the character playlists from time to time if that’s of any interest.  
> There’s also a [Strengths and Weaknesses](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/6lodpOCBxkBfpajjUK5pYV)  
> playlist finally in there if you’d like to relive all of Shiro’s annoying classic rock songs from Part 1.


	14. Rivali, think about what you're doing here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team ventures out into the desert to investigate Keith’s shack.  
> Not everyone makes it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, I limited my chapters to a max word count of 6-7K words. But fuck word counts! This is a long chapter.  
> I posted the first scene on Tumblr a few days ago, so if you caught that post and read it, you can skip to the next scene. 
> 
> Thanks to [avidbeader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader) for beta reading. Without her, there would be an unbearable amount of comma misuse. I probably misused a comma just writing these notes.

“Welcome back, Captain! Your student’s in simulator C-7,” the security guard chirped.

 

“Thanks, Tara.”

 

“Captain!” Commander Iverson clapped him on the back as they passed each other in the sim atrium. “I watched some of the ship’s video feeds. Incredible landing on Vesta. Absolutely incredible.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“Looking forward to your full report,” the commander called, backpedalling away.

 

Rivali walked up to the assigned sim and rolled his eyes when he noticed the familiar silhouette of another student sitting in the instructor’s seat. “You’re in my seat, punk,” he joked, ducking his head into the sim.

 

Cadet Erikson shot him a look of mock-defiance with his blue eyes. Shirogane peeked out from behind the blonde boy’s pompadour, eyes shining, clearly excited to see his mentor after eight months.

 

“Shouldn’t you be in your public relations elective?” Rivali asked, checking the time. “Or did you miss it again because you were too busy doing your hair?”

 

“I have five minutes,” the boy said as he grabbed his tablet and stood up. “All yours, Captain. Welcome back.”

 

“Thanks, Cadet. Now get to class.” He then eyed the boy’s hair and smirked. “Seriously, how long does it take you to get your hair like that? That can’t be the style these days.”

 

“How would you know, old man?” Erikson teased as he strolled away.

 

“Fucking smart ass. Show a little respect for your elders, Erikson,” Rivali called out. He then ducked his head back into the simulator and sat down. “Why the hell do you hang out with that kid, I don’t get it. Seems like he cares more about winning a popularity contest than actually learning to fly.”

 

Shiro shrugged. “There’s more to him than that. He’s a good friend.”

 

“If you say so. And don’t even get me started on that Medina character you hang out with. There’s no way he’ll make fighter-class. He should’ve enlisted in the Army. He makes a good battering ram and that’s about it; street smarts hardly apply in aeronautics.”

 

Shiro just laughed. “Medina’s awesome! And I warned you not to call him out on technique in Combatives and then use him to demonstrate hip throws. It’s your own fault that he took you down in front of the class.”

 

“Well, I’m not teaching that fucking course anymore.”

 

“He’s actually a pretty good marksman, too.”

 

“Again, he would’ve been great in the army. _Anyway_ , how’ve you been?” Rivali asked, reaching out to ruffle Shiro’s hair, sporting a new undercut. “Nice hair. Looks like you grew six inches as well. So, did you beat every simulation score while I was gone?”

 

Shiro modestly shrugged and then sat on the edge of his seat. “Tell me about the mission first! They showed everyone the footage of your landing on Vesta! It was _so_ cool! That had to have been so hard!”

 

“Yeah, Vesta’s got a bitch of a rotation, super-uneven surface. I’d be ready to land and then a crater would come out of nowhere, chunks of ice and basalt would be flying at me, and I’d have to pull away quickly, get my bearings, and then try to land again. I got it on the fourth attempt. They probably didn’t show you the first three attempts.”

 

“No, they didn’t. But still! That’s the first time we successfully landed on an asteroid!”

 

“Protoplanet,” Rivali corrected. “How’s your sim average? Been working on Pugachev’s Cobra with the twenty-five knot crosswind?”

 

Shiro’s face lit up and then became immediately concerned. “Yeah. I did... I got a pretty good score,” he replied as Rivali pulled up Shiro’s profile on the sim screen.

 

When he saw the score he almost choked and had to do a double take. _What the fuck?!_

 

“I um… I beat your score,” Shiro offered hesitantly.

 

“Yeah… I see that.” He couldn’t believe it. He tried to push down the jealousy that was beginning to bubble up like bile in the back of his throat. Rivali’s score had been undefeated for six years. The kid was insanely talented so he’d figured it was only a matter of time, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. And that the kid would figure it out mostly on his own. “So... I guess my pointers helped?”

 

Shiro hesitated again. “Yeah… at first... but I kept getting caught when I was vertical so I just went back through the _Advanced High-Speed Aerodynamics_ text and dissected the maneuver into… I don’t know, physics, I guess. And once I broke it down to that level it just started falling into place and became so simple. I still had a bit of a messy return so I’d like to go back and fix that… but it would make the score… higher.”

 

Rivali took a deep breath. “Well… we can still work on that, then. That’s a hell of a score without the correction, especially for your experience. I’m… I’m proud of you.” He had to make himself say it. The words tasted acerbic as his ego fought him through each and every word. “Walk me through it, let’s see your method in action.”

 

He reached over in front of Shiro to pull up the flight scenario and felt Shiro’s eyes on his ring finger. “Where’s uh… where’s your ring?”

 

 _Observant little bastard._ “Sarah and I are getting divorced… Apparently eight months gave her a lot of time to think.”

 

The kid suddenly looked saddened and deflated. “Really? But… I thought you loved each other. What happened?”

 

“Takashi, sometimes people fall out of love. It’s just… part of life. People change. Happens all the time.”

 

“What about Brianna?”

 

“I’ve got every other weekend right now. She’s young enough where she won’t remember most of the actual divorce. For her, it’ll just be normal that her parents don’t live together.”

 

Shiro still looked disappointed, like he was trying to make sense of how Rivali’s situation worked into his romantic ideals of “love is forever” and “everyone finds _the one._ ”

 

“Look, you’re young. You won’t have to deal with this kind of stuff for a while. OK? I’m fine. Sarah and I are better off without each other.” Rivali leaned to the side to grab his phone out of his pocket and move the subject away from his personal life. “OK kid, what are we listening to?”

 

Shiro perked up at the subject of music. “Well… You’re gonna hate me but-”

 

“If you say Jethro Tull, I’m probably going to throw up.”

 

“Alice Cooper.”

 

Rivali shook his head. “What is _wrong_ with you?!”

 

Shiro just laughed. “Nothing! Lately I’m just digging KISS and Twisted Sister… and Alice Cooper.”

 

“You have the same music taste as my great grandfather,” Rivali laughed. “You could at least listen to Metallica or Guns N’ Roses. They’re a little more tolerable.” As he pulled up the artist on his phone, he glanced once more at the scenario he’d selected with Shiro’s unbelievable sim score now listed on top of Rivali’s. “All right… Alice Cooper by request. Let’s fly.”

 

The simulator dropped them into the familiar rescue scenario on Mars as a storm brewed in the distance, throwing challenging gusts of wind and debris towards the ship. Shiro sprung to life, his movements rigidly textbook but purposeful and fueled by some sort of innate wisdom that surpassed his years. Rivali watched blankly as he dwelled on the score, fighting the envious rage coursing through his veins while Alice Cooper serenaded them.

 

_No more Mr. Nice Guy…_

 

\-----

 

It had only been two days since Erikson’s statement was released but each day made the atmosphere around the Garrison offices exponentially more unbearable. Making his way down the hallway of the sixth floor, Medina passed the offices of the Chief of Aeronautics, Chief of Research, and Deputy Administrator, heart racing the further he walked. There weren’t many situations that he couldn’t joke, intimidate, or just flat-out punch his way out of. But none of those strategies applied to this situation. _What does he want with me?_

 

He stopped outside of Chief Administrator Adisa’s office and, rather than dwelling on his suspicions as to why Adisa would request his immediate presence, he opened the door. Adisa’s secretary picked up the phone to announce him and then waved him through the second door.

 

Upon stepping into the large office, Medina stood at attention and pulled out the best salute of his career since boot camp.

 

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

 

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

 

“Have a seat,” Adisa said, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk. “Commander Lazarovich informed me of the proposals he received for the next Mars Lab mission. He said you didn’t apply.”

 

“Well, I just got back from Mars about a year ago and I knew Lieutenant Rodriguez really wanted the opportunity, so I didn’t submit anything.”

 

“Very well. I know Lazarovich was disappointed to not see your proposal on his desk. His team of scientists said that your landing on Mars was the smoothest they’d had in years. Not all fighter-class pilots do well with the amount of equipment and people onboard the ships that go to the Mars Lab. We’ve actually considered reaching out to some of the more experienced cargo-class pilots for these missions.”

 

“Oh, well, thank you for letting me know.” _That can’t be what he called me up here for._ Medina had never met with Adisa face to face and made a point to examine his eyes as he did these days with everyone he met. Adisa’s sclerae were white and his irises dark brown. _Very un-Galra,_ he decided. He also noted two old scars on the man’s face: one across his cheek and another above his left eyebrow.

 

“There’s another mission coming down the pipeline that I’d like to encourage you to apply for. Our researchers think there have been significant changes to the orbit of Lexell’s Comet and it will come fairly close to Earth although it is quickly disintegrating. The current probes throughout the solar system won’t be able to capture proper images so we’re proposing a mission for some close-up photographs. We’re also hoping to collect debris samples from the tail. It’ll be challenging to fly alongside a comet but I think it’s a unique opportunity for your growth. I anticipate it to be a high profile mission with the media and it’ll pay very well. It’s also not a long mission; you wouldn’t be away from your family for more than four months. I understand you’re engaged.”

 

Medina felt uncomfortable at the mention of his soon-to-be family. “Yes. I am, sir. Thank you, I will locate the mission proposal on the intranet and look over it.”

 

“It’s not posted yet. You’re the first in the aeronautics department to know about it. I wanted to give you a head start.” Adisa’s facial expression was unreadable; he maintained a slight and probably forced smile.

 

“OK… thank you, sir. I’ll do some research for the time being. Is that all?”

 

“Oh, there _is_ one more thing. Do you keep in touch with Jesper Erikson anymore?”

 

 _That’s what he wanted._ “Um, we got together two or three months ago but we haven’t really talked since. We’re not as close as we used to be.”

 

“Did you know he was in town?”

 

“I did. We just have a hard time connecting every time he’s around. You remember how he is. He’s got a million things planned, always has a bunch of people to see.”

 

“So you weren’t aware that he was going to speak out against the integrity of our organization?”

 

 _Time to bullshit._ “I wish I had known. I would have tried to explain all the evidence that we have and would have tried to reason with him.”

 

“Yes, I also wish I would have had the opportunity to speak with him before he made this brash decision. I know he found a mistake in his non-disclosure agreement but our legal team is labeling his actions as political dissent. If you speak to him, please encourage him to come in so that we can talk.” Adisa folded his hands and maintained his smile.

 

“Will do, sir.”

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”

 

Medina heaved a deep breath once he was back in the hallway and away from Adisa’s disturbing grin and scrutinizing eyes.

 

As if by divine providence, or just a plain old fucking curse, the Chief of Safety and Mission Assurance’s office door opened and Rivali stepped into the hallway.

 

“What are you doing up here?” Rivali questioned.

 

“None of your fucking business, ravioli.”

 

“Seriously, were you just in Adisa’s office?” he scoffed in disbelief.

 

“Yeah, what the fuck do you care?”

 

Rivali raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “For what?”

 

Medina thought about telling Rivali to fuck himself but knew it would be suspicious to repeatedly avoid the senior officer’s question. “He wanted to tell me about an upcoming mission that I should look into. He said no one in our department knows about it yet so I can’t give you details.”

 

The older man contorted his face into what must be his “thinking” expression. His eyes suddenly went wide. “He’s looking for Erikson, isn’t he?”

 

Medina tried to keep his cool and shrugged. “Didn’t mention anything about it.”

 

“You’re a terrible liar, Dani.”

 

“I’d list all the things you’re terrible at but we’d be here all fucking day and I don’t really want to spend that much time with you. And I’m not lying. Or are you upset that you’re being kept in the dark?”

 

Rivali bristled. “I’m not being kept in the-” he snapped before abruptly turning away towards the stairwell.

 

“Always nice chatting with you,” Medina called after him. At least needling at Rivali made him feel slightly better after his strange meeting with Adisa. He needed to get a hold of Moore ASAP.

 

\-----

 

“Medina’s house is way better than the dorms but this is a nice change,” Celine commented as she lounged on the king-sized bed, reading her book and trying to take her mind off of waiting for Moore’s phone call.

 

“Anything’s better than my place,” Woolf said, looking up from his position with his head rested on her leg.

 

“What’s wrong with your place?”

 

“When I moved, I bought a fixer-upper and was going to do everything myself and sell it in a year but since I’m always back here, I haven’t had time to finish the million projects I’ve started. The kitchen is all ripped up right now and barely usable.”

 

Wolf never talked much about his life back at home. “That sounds annoying to deal with. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s cool. I’m just glad to be back here, tartine.”

 

“You have to stop that shit,” Celine laughed at her nickname-of-the-day. “I know you think it’s cute to think of French words that rhyme with my name but the only words you think of are food-related.”

 

“Like poutine?”

 

“Ew.”

 

“You’d prefer guillotine?”

 

“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about. Where have the cool words been this whole time?”

 

Woolf’s laugh reverberated in the mattress. “I liked praline.”

 

Celine shook her head but smiled. “The more I’m around you, the weirder you get,” she teased, nudging his head with her leg.

 

Woolf pretended to act offended but Celine wasn’t sure if anything actually bothered him. Other than an unfinished and unusable kitchen.

 

“Hmm… I’m going to need to convince you to keep me around, huh?” he said, turning his head to lightly nip at her leg.

 

“You might need to, you’re pretty weird,” she said, playing along.

 

Woolf answered with another playful bite further up her inner thigh, fingers gliding under her sundress. Celine shivered. This boy was pure magic. This had to be the reason the girls at the Garrison were always whispering about him. He was a good pilot but he was apparently good at _other_ things as well.

 

Before he could move any higher, there was a sudden knock at the door.

 

“You think it’s them again?” Woolf asked.

 

Celine nodded silently.

 

“I’ll get it this time,” Woolf said, sitting up.

 

“No, I’ll get it. Your name is on the plane now. What if they recognize you and start putting it all together?”

 

“Yeah… true.” Woolf reluctantly conceded.

 

Celine answered the door and acted clueless. “Can I help you?”

 

“I’m Sergeant Hughes, Galaxy Garrison Department of Global Securities,” one of the officers stated, holding up his Garrison ID. “We’re looking for Jesper Erikson. We’d like to ask him a few questions.”

 

“I don’t know who that is. Two people came by yesterday looking for someone by that same name,” she answered. Erikson had checked out and relocated to a small motel ninety minutes away. Celine and Woolf had stayed in the room in case any additional reporters stopped by looking for him.

 

The officer narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “You don’t watch the news?”

 

Celine crossed her arms. “Not really. It’s boring.”

 

The officer tried peering past her into the hotel suite but gave up quickly. “Sorry to bother you then,” he said and turned away.

 

Celine listened for the elevator doors close before returning to the bed but Woolf was already up, answering a text on his phone. “Medina is leaving work a little early and everyone is driving separately to meet at the hangar in an hour. Are you going to be ready to go soon?”

 

Celine nodded. It was time for answers.

 

\-----

 

The thirty-minute walk felt longer but they’d landed the plane out of the way on purpose. At least the early evening sun wasn’t as intense. Elise stayed back at Medina’s but there were still seven people so they had to hide Su as the group filled out the passenger log at the tiny regional airport.

 

Celine’s heart fluttered nervously as the shack came into view amid the heat rising in waves from the sand.

 

“I can’t believe it,” Erikson breathed when he saw the red hoverbike.

 

Celine hoped that the structure had just appeared small from a distance, but as the group neared, it became apparent that it was literally a single room with a roof overhead. Had Keith been alone for almost a year? Living here?

 

Moore looked up at the metal shed built adjacent to the shack and then circled the bike. “Looks like Keith installed some heavy-duty antigrav propellers. Although, I don’t know where he got the money for these things.” Kneeling alongside the bike, he dusted the sand that had accumulated off the access panel. “I’m wondering if we can hotwire this thing.” He then smirked and looked up at his friend. “Medina?”

 

Medina did not want to engage. “Dude, I had to promise my mom, my abuela, like fifty aunts,  every fucking family member that I’d never try to pull off that kind of shit again. So, no. I’m not boosting shit.”

 

Celine looked at Woolf with a raised eyebrow. This was new dirt on Medina… Woolf just shrugged, apparently he knew the story. But now wasn’t the time to fill her in.

 

“You’re not fifteen and getting into trouble in the South Bronx. This is kind of a different situation. Shiro would _want_ you to boost his bike! We need to get it out of here. I can reset the retina scan if you can get the engine running,” Moore reasoned.

 

“And where the hell are we keeping it?” Medina questioned.

 

“Well… probably your garage.”

 

“No.”

 

“Come on, we can paint it a different color, I’ll try to change the VIN and forge a new title. It’ll be fine. We can’t leave it out here. We at least need to see if we can fit the bike into this shed. Everyone knew Shiro had this thing, it’s unmistakable. If the Garrison ever wound up snooping around here-”

 

“I’ll look at it later if we don’t find the key inside. OK?” Medina grumbled, heading onto the porch.

 

Celine hung back while the others entered the shack after Moore talked Medina into picking the lock. She was suddenly frightened of what she might learn inside.

 

“You OK?” Woolf asked as he waited behind her.

 

“I want answers… I just didn’t realize that I might not be ready for them,” she replied.

 

“No one’s ever ready for these kinds of answers,” he said, lightly squeezing her shoulder before walking ahead and holding the door open for her. She took a deep breath and followed.

 

The group stood in silence.

 

The inside was… cramped. The walls were cracked and discolored and when the wind whipped around the structure, she could hear it creak and screech as it shifted against the adjoining metal shed. A layer of dust and sand blanketed a makeshift table constructed from plywood and cinder blocks. Towering in one corner was a stack of strange-looking equipment.

 

Along the back wall was a futon. With a sheet on top of it. Celine tried not to picture Keith curled up and trying to sleep underneath the cracked and drafty windows.

 

There were at least fifty books on a few shelves and another fifty piled around the room and in boxes. Some of the titles were still legible despite the dust and damage from heavy usage: classics like 1 _984_ and _Brave New World_ were mixed in among books such as _The Case for UFOs_ and _True Paranormal Stories_ and some astronomy texts from the Garrison. Above one of the bookshelves was a day-to-day calendar. It still read May 2nd. The date of Shiro’s return.

 

Su and Lourdes began inspecting the equipment in the corner but the guys all looked at Celine, waiting for the go-ahead; permission to pry into a potentially dark part of Keith’s life.

 

“Guess we should start looking to see what we can find, right?” she finally said. Woolf began looking through the books while Moore peeked behind a dust cloth that covered a large portion of the wall. Medina brushed some sand off of the couch to sit, clearly uneasy as he took in his surroundings.

 

Celine and Erikson took inventory of a small closet which revealed a mere five cans of food, three empty containers that had probably once held water, Shiro’s kenjutsu practice sword, and a few stacks of clothes, some of which Celine recognized as Keith’s. Some of the clothing folded on the shelf, however, did not look familiar. Upon further inspection, the unfamiliar clothes were all new with tags. And they were all the same, just in different sizes. Erikson sifted through a few boxes on the floor of the closet which seemed to be holding trash. One was full of empty gunpowder canisters. “He was preparing for something,” Erikson observed. “I wonder if he caused all those explosions that night.”

 

Celine nodded in agreement. Erikson reached for another box, filled mostly with crumpled pieces of paper, empty soup cans, and some rags- They both paused when they recognized the tattered purple shirt. Shiro thrashing against his restraints flashed across Celine’s mind. She shuddered and stepped away but Erikson couldn’t tear his eyes from the alien uniform.

 

Looking to drive the image from her head, Celine joined Moore by the covered wall. She stooped to pick up a random candybar wrapper off of the floor and looked thoughtfully at the foil and red font. _Who the hell eats a king-sized Baby Ruth?_ She’d always stocked a bowl full of candy around Halloween and Keith would pick out and consume every Kit Kat whenever he stopped by her dorm. And each time Keith teased her for having Baby Ruths in the mix.

 

“No one eats that shit,” he always said.

 

“My dad does. And my classmate loves-”

 

Celine stopped mid-thought. “Hunk!!” she exclaimed out loud. Everyone looked at her after the seemingly random outburst. “Hunk Garrett was definitely here. He’s one of the missing cadets!”

Woolf walked over, clutching two notebooks: a small bound one with a burgundy fabric cover and a bigger spiral-bound one with a black cover. “Pidge Gunderson’s name is on the inside cover of this book. It was on the floor next to the couch. Looks like he was here, too,” he said, holding up the smaller of the two notebooks.

 

Moore looked over at Celine. “You cool if we pull this dust cloth down? It looks like there’s a map behind it.”

 

Celine nodded and stood back as Moore yanked the cloth down. Waving the dust out of her face as it settled, she was overwhelmed by photographs, strings of yarn, and scribbled notes on the wall. “What is this?”

 

“Wow. Um… I don’t know,” Moore said after he cleaned off his glasses.

 

Lourdes smoothed her hand over one the photographs. “He found the Blue Lion.”

 

“How did he know it was out here?” Celine questioned. “What made him stay here and search for it?”

 

“Su?” Lourdes prompted.

 

Su unfolded her copy of Moore’s topographical map. “This location matches the coordinates Elise gave me. This is the teleport hub. There should be more of this equipment somewhere. We should look for a cellar.”

 

“What exactly designates this particular location as a teleport hub?” Moore asked.

 

“A natural concentration of the Earth’s quintessence. The Receiver needs to harness enough energy to accept the transmission.”

 

Woolf pointed at the stack of equipment. “Are _those_ receivers?”

 

Su shook her head. “No. Some of them are just scanners but most of them are the quantum hard drives to organize the qubit coding. The Receiver, someone with enough power, like Gwansun, receives the energy to complete the exchange and prevent decoherence.” The group stared at her blankly. “Well, that’s at least how Elise described it.”

 

“Huh… For some reason I still envisioned _Star Trek-_ type stuff,” Moore said to himself. “I never thought about a person channeling energy as part of the reaction.”

 

“So… you think the quintessence drew him out here and then he started searching around the area?” Erikson asked as he walked over.

 

Su shrugged. “It’s possible.”

 

“Well, it also looks like he was sensing energy further out in the desert. I’m assuming that’s where the Blue Lion was,” Lourdes noted, pointing to where Keith had written “ENERGY SOURCE!” on the map.

 

Woolf spoke up, still holding the spiral-bound notebook. “I think this might be his… journal,” he said handing it to Celine. “Maybe it has some details about how he wound up here.”

 

Celine looked at the dog-eared black cover and flipped through the lined pages. “I don’t know if I can read this.”

 

“I think it’s really important that we look at it,” Woolf pointed out. “And if anyone should read it, it’s you.”

 

Celine hesitantly opened the cover to look at the first page. There were entire lines aggressively scratched out and rewritten. She was honestly surprised Keith had decided to keep a journal. He was always stuck inside his head, battling with internal dialogue, but she assumed it wasn’t anything he wanted to actually put down in writing.

 

_\--June 10--_

_I don’t know what the fuck I’m writing this for. Maybe it’s just something to do while I’m here. I don’t really know why I’m here. The desert is one of the only places I’ve felt free. I’ve always loved being out here. The only thing is that last year I didn’t have to come out here alone; Shiro always came with me. And now it’s hard to be out here without him._

 

_So here I am._

 

_Alone._

 

_Again._

 

_No one ever stays._

 

_I’d like to think that if Shiro were alive, he would’ve stayed._

 

_There’s a stupid saying that goes something along the lines of, “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” I thought I disagreed with that saying because this hurts like fucking hell. But when I calm down and really remember him, I guess I’m grateful for the time we had and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It just hurts so much._

 

_I don’t have anywhere to go. I’m just- I’m here. And I don’t know why. But I can’t leave. Something is keeping me here. It feels like- This is so stupid. It feels like an energy. An energy that is stronger when I’m here and weaker as I move back towards the Garrison or towards any of the nearby towns or the reservation. I know that sounds dumb but that’s the best way I can describe it._

 

“It’s definitely his journal,” Celine whispered as she slowly flipped the page and read the next few passages out loud.

 

_\--June 19--_

  1. _I guess I’m still fucking doing this journal thing. There’s not much else to do. I start getting creeped out when I just calm down and start- I don’t know- feeling what’s happening._



 

_There’s kind of like two energies. The one energy is here in this- I don’t know, is this a shack? A shed? I don’t know, it has a metal shed attached to it. And a weird metal cellar door out back that I can’t get into._

 

 _It sounds weird but I think I’ve been here before. I keep having d_ _éjà vu._ _Maybe my mom and dad brought me here when I was young? You know how you remember stuff a certain way when you’re younger? Like I remember my first elementary school. It seemed so big when I was six and walking through the halls. But then I had to go back for this community service thing when I was thirteen and it seemed so small and different. I guess my memories of this place feel like that. It’s familiar but not quite how I remembered it. And foreign at the same time because it’s been so long._

 

_Anyway, I’ve been venturing out almost every day. The further north I go, a different type of energy draws me. I think it’s coming from the outcropping of boulders but I haven’t gotten that far. It’s fucking hot. And I’m so consumed with figuring out these two energies that I forget that I need to sort out my food situation. I only have a few cans left. It also takes a long time to get to the nearest river. I need to remember to boil the water at night. Drinking hot water in ninety-degree weather is fucking torture. It took way too long for the water to cool off last time. I also need to remember to steal some lighter fluid next time I venture into town. So this is a journal and grocery/to-do list._

 

_I could try to get a job, washing dishes or some shit like that, so I can at least buy some more food. We’ll see how that goes. At least a job might keep my mind off of Shiro. I’m still so angry._

 

_I just wish I knew Shiro was coming home. I wish I knew more. Not knowing what even happened to him makes me sick. It’s killing me._

 

_\--July 23--_

_So haven’t written in a while. I knew I couldn’t keep a stupid journal. I also couldn’t keep up the stockroom job at the convenience store BUT I got to steal a lot of food. So good news and bad news. Working was also a distraction. Also good and bad, I guess. I’m back in this fucking place. Alone. I’m used to being alone. So it shouldn’t bother me, right?_

 

_Shiro’s death is sort of sinking in. I don’t feel like throwing up every time I think about him. It was so stupid to sleep with a bunch of people before I got expelled but I just needed to be distracted from the empty feeling of knowing that I’d never see him again. Now that I’ve been out here for a while, alone with my… feelings… It hurts a little less everyday. Like I’m getting numb. Sometimes I panic because I think it’s because I’m already forgetting him. But I know that would be impossible._

 

_I think part of what’s helping me is the energy I keep feeling out here. I need to find where it’s coming from. I can’t help but think that maybe this energy is connected to something- I don’t know- bigger? It sounds dumb, but something is happening out in those caves. And maybe there are answers. Maybe not answers for Shiro but for something. For me. I just need to get out there._

 

Celine flipped forward.

 

_\--October 2--_

_I’ve been around this part of the desert so many times. I’m beginning to memorize it. Every canyon and cliff and rock formation._

 

_There’s all these caves. They’re definitely the energy source. There’s these weird markings inside near the entrance. They look like a puma or a lion. I need to spend more time searching over there. And I need to steal a camera. Or buy a shitty one. Which would involve trying to get another job…_

 

_I just have to start trying to connect the dots here. I need to organize my my thoughts._

 

Celine looked up at the board. “So, I guess these are the cave markings that he found.” She glanced at some of the handwritten notes on neon paper. Most of them just had observations or details about the picture or outstanding questions he had. But a few were just desperate scribbles. “It’s killing me when you’re away” caught her eye. _Why would he post that on his board?_ Maybe he’d meant to write something else but that’s all that would come out. She wished she could have helped Keith in some way. Helped him so he didn’t have to go through all of this alone. She flipped forward through the journal again.

 

_\--December 30--_

_There’s going to be an arrival. I don’t know what exactly. Or when. Not yet. But it has to do with the lion carvings._

 

_This is all I can write, it’s too fucking cold._

 

Celine’s eyes teared up as she looked up at the rest of the group, somberly standing in silence.

 

“Well... we know he survived the winter,” Woolf quietly offered, putting an arm around her. “He’s a tough kid.”

 

She nodded in agreement and then turned to face Medina, who was still on the couch. He’d been oddly quiet. She walked over and sat down, placing the journal on the plywood table. “You OK, Dani?”

 

He slowly closed his eyes and nodded. “I… just can’t imagine being in his situation.”

 

“I know…”

 

“Did he talk to you about… the people he slept with before he got booted?”

 

“He didn’t want to talk at all. He was so withdrawn and upset.”

 

“Rivali was one of them…”

 

Celine’s eyes widened. “What?”

 

“I guess I feel a little better knowing that it was... consensual.” Medina curled his lip. “Rivali wasn’t lying after all. I swear though, if I see him outside of work, I might just fucking kill him. Just for contributing to all the shit Keith had to go through.”

 

Celine stilled and didn’t comment. Something in Medina’s voice scared her.

 

“Well, what should we do?” she finally asked the group.

 

“Su and I are going to look around for the cellar,” Lourdes said.

 

“If you can, keep going through the journal, see if there’s anything that stands out to you,” Moore said. “Medina, let’s look for the key to the bike and at least get it into the shed until we can figure out what to do with it. Erikson and Woolf, I guess just collect stuff that you think we should bring back. We can snap pictures of the board and try reassembling it back at Medina’s. Although I don’t know what else we’ll get out of it. All of this was so he could find the Blue Lion and be prepared for Shiro’s arrival. I just don’t want anyone else to find this stuff. Especially the Garrison.”

 

The team mobilized while Celine flipped forward to where the handwriting ended and the blank pages began.

 

_\--May 2--_

_It’s today. I’m ready._

 

_I’ve already piled the explosives in three different locations. I’m hoping everything can detonate at the same time and that it’s in the right position to either distract or deter the Garrison from investigating The Arrival. I keep checking the sky but I don’t see anything approaching. Whatever it is, it must be moving fast. The energy in my home is surging. I can barely sit still to write this._

 

_If The Arrival is alien, I can’t figure out why I’m not scared. This thing could just turn around and kill me. But maybe it’s expecting me._

 

_Maybe it already knows me._

 

_Despite the lack of plumbing, shoddy generator that barely keeps this place warm, and distance to proper food (I would kill for a goddamn hamburger), this place is home. It’s quiet. It’s where I’ve battled the elements and faced my pain rather than running from it._

 

_And it’s where I’ve found peace._

 

_I still miss Shiro and the only other place that’s really felt like home was his apartment at the Garrison. But I feel like this is my purpose. Whatever this is, this is why I’m here. And I’d rather Shiro be with me but if his death helped me find my purpose, then so be it._

 

_I’m not sure if I’ll be here tomorrow so this might be my final entry._

 

\-----

 

It was dark when the team was close to finishing. No hoverbike key was to be found so Medina had hotwired the bike and was in the process of fitting it into the shed. Lourdes and Su located the cellar door behind the shack but it had a combination code to unlock the doors and the characters were all strange-looking symbols. Lourdes speculated that they were Galra symbols so she and Su took as many photos as they could, hoping that Elise would know how it worked.

 

Back inside the shack, Celine, Woolf, and Erikson had organized a box containing all of the notes and photos from Keith’s board. Moore was finishing taking detailed pictures of the quantum hard drives when he suddenly heard a motor off in the distance. He paused and strained to listen. “I hear something.”

 

Celine furrowed her brow as she filed Keith’s journal in the box. “What is it?”

 

Moore closed his eyes and tried placing the sound. It wasn’t a hoverbike, it was more like… a jeep. Two of them. And they were getting closer. _Shit..._ “Guys!!” he called out. “Everyone get down! Flashlights off!!”

 

Woolf grabbed Celine and ducked behind the table while Erikson and Moore kneeled on the couch to peer out of the cracked windows. They saw two Garrison vehicles off in the distance but quickly approaching. Su was running towards the shack but Lourdes was nowhere in sight. “Fucking shit!” Moore hissed.

 

He quickly ran to the front door and waved Medina in from the shed.

 

“Where’s Su and Lourdes?” Medina asked once inside.

 

“They’re out back!” Moore responded with panic.

 

Seconds later, Su plowed in through the front door. “Who are they? Who’s coming?” she managed between breaths.

 

“It’s the motherfucking Garrison! Where’s Lourdes?!” Moore shouted, closing the door behind her.

 

“I don’t know, she was wandering around trying to get reception to call Elise. I got scared and I ran back without thinking to find her first.”

 

“I told you guys not to go out too far! Turn off your flashlight!” Su obeyed, sliding her back down the door, still catching her breath.

 

Moore looked back out the window as the headlights grew brighter. Suddenly Lourdes’ silhouette came into view. “Oh, shit. She’s not going to make it back in time.”

 

“I have to go back out there!” Su exclaimed.

 

“No. No one goes out there,” Erikson commanded. “Just stay quiet. Medina, recognize anyone?” he asked as the vehicle engines idled and a few officers stepped out, talking among themselves. Headlights flooded the shack with blinding beams of light.

 

“See? I told you I saw flashlights out here,” one of the officers said.

 

Medina crouched down on the couch. “Looks like Global Securities,” he whispered.

 

“Who are you? What are you doing out here?” another officer questioned Lourdes.

 

Su’s eyes went wide with terror. “We’re not ready. We’re not ready.”

 

“Ready for what?” Moore whispered from the couch.

 

“I’m supposed to get captured. Not her. This isn’t part of the plan.”

 

“No one’s getting captured,” Erikson reassured.

 

Su just shook her head and buried her head in her hands. Moore wanted to believe Erikson, for Su’s sake. And Lourdes’ sake. But he had a terrible feeling.

 

The next voice from outside was Lourdes’. “I ah… ran out of gas back there. I thought maybe someone lived here, but I guess not.”

 

Moore peered out the window again to watch the interaction with Erikson and Medina. “Miss, you should always carry extra gas when you’re driving around out here.” He watched as the officer paused and then raised his flashlight to look at Lourdes better. “Where’re you from?” he asked, clearly studying her eyes.

 

“Uh… well. I’m a citizen. But I’m visiting-”

 

The sergeant snorted. “You can say that again. Commander! Come here, you gotta see this.”

 

 _Oh my god, no. They know she’s Galra._ Moore cursed and punched the couch.

 

And then he saw Rivali. _Oh, fuck._

 

Rivali walked up and shined his flashlight into her face. “You out here alone?”

 

“I… yes… my car…” Lourds stuttered.

 

“Do her eyes look purple to you?” the officer asked Rivali.

 

Moore’s heart slammed into his ribcage. _Think! Think! What can we do?_

 

Out of the corner of Moore’s eye, he saw Erikson peer out the window one more time and then hurriedly unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt and mess up his hair.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Moore hissed.

 

“Scan her retinas,” they heard Rivali order from outside.

 

Erikson set his phone on the plywood table and just gave Moore an oddly determined look before he stood. The entire group watched him open the front door and run out towards the back. “Baby, where’d you go? Oh shit... what’s going on?”

 

Moore tried calming himself as he watched the exchange outside. “Lieutenant- I mean- Erikson?” one of the officers squawked in disbelief.

 

Erikson shielded his eyes from the headlights. “Uh, yeah... what is all this?”

 

Another sergeant began excitedly shouting, “Commander!! It’s Erikson! We need to arrest him and bring him in for questioning!”

 

“Take her back to the jeeps. Let me deal with Erikson,” Rivali answered.

 

“Wait, why?” Erikson asked. “What’s going on?”

 

“Commander!! I suggest we bring him back to headquarters!!”

 

“Back to to the jeeps, Hughes! That’s an order!” Rivali shouted.

 

Sergeant Hughes glared at Erikson and reluctantly followed orders, pushing Lourdes toward the vehicles.

 

Moore strained to listen as Rivali dropped his voice to speak with Erikson. “What are you doing here? What is this place?” he questioned, shining his flashlight toward the shack. Erikson circled around so that Rivali had to face away from the shack in order to maintain eye contact, drawing his attention away from the group’s hiding spot.

 

“It’s a fucking abandoned shack,” Erikson answered. “Every hotel was crawling with Global Securities so she and I headed out of town and came here. She’s a journalist.” Erikson scrubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I came across this place last night and brought a different reporter… you know.”

 

“Was she Galra, too?” Rivali asked with suspicion.

 

“What the fuck is Galra? This girl’s like, French or something. I don’t usually go for black girls but her accent’s cute,” Erikson pretended.

 

“Don’t bullshit me. You don’t know what Galra is?!” Rivali asked, trying to keep his voice low enough so that his subordinates wouldn’t overhear their conversation.

 

“Galra… Oh, you mean Ghana? That would make her Ghanaian.”

 

“No. _Galra_ ,” Rivali repeated.

 

“Are you talking about Guinea? Guyana?”

 

“I’m not talking about a fucking country in Africa!” Rivali shouted, losing his patience with Erikson’s game.

 

“Actually, Guyana is in South Amer-”

 

“Goddammit, Erikson!”

 

“I don’t know what Galra means. I’ve never heard that word before.”

 

“Don’t fuck with me.”

 

“Positive scan!” Hughes shouted, walking back from the vehicles. “She’s Galra.”

 

“Deliver her to the camps when we’re done,” Rivali instructed.

 

Su’s gasp filled the entire shack and Moore fought the urge to run outside and attempt to intervene. The more people that wound up outside, the less that would be returning home.

 

“What? You can’t just take her!” Erikson started. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. What are the camps? What are you talking about?”

 

“I say we take him, too!” Hughes shouted.

 

Rivali held up a hand. “I’m still questioning him, do you mind?”

 

“Global Securities has been looking for him for two days! If we bring him in, Adisa will be so happy with us. What are you waiting for?!”

 

Rivali paused, weighing his options. “It’s not that simple, Hughes.”

 

“Commander! He’s a public dissident!! That’s barely a step down from treason in my book.”

 

“Wait, what?! Last time I checked, the fifth amendment isn’t public dissidence!” Erikson retorted. “And your book sounds fucked up, maybe you need to get sent back to school, you little-”

 

“Commander! Arrest him! Are you on our side or what?!” Hughes spat.

 

Erikson cocked an eyebrow. “Since when does Global Securities trump rank?”

 

“Shut the fuck up and stay out of this, Erikson,” Hughes shouted. “Commander, arrest him or I will!!”

 

Rivali’s had a strange and distant look in his eyes as he pulled his gun from his waistband holster and raised it to Erikson’s forehead. “Hughes, I need you to wait in the jeep.”

 

Satisfied, Hughes followed orders and backpedaled with a smug grin while Erikson slowly raised his hands. “Rivali, think about what you’re doing here,” he attempted to reason.

 

 _Oh, shit. This is bad. This is really fucking bad. Rivali wouldn’t shoot, would he?_ Moore’s mind raced. He thought about recording the interaction on his phone but was distracted by Medina’s movement next to him. Medina had remained still the entire time until now and began unzipping his hooded sweatshirt.

 

“What are you-” Moore stopped short as Medina reached for his Garrison-issued handgun concealed by his outer layer.

 

Celine sucked in a breath and Woolf clapped his hand over her mouth. “You gotta stay quiet, darling,” he whispered.

 

Moore violently shook his head at Medina who carefully lined up his weapon to take aim out of the bottom corner of the window where the glass was missing. “Fuck, Medina. Please don’t,” he whispered.

 

Medina didn’t acknowledge.

 

Moore barely heard the conversation outside continue as blood roared in his ears.

 

“Jesper. Tell me what’s going on,” Rivali said, holding his gun mere inches from Erikson’s head.

 

“Nothing is going on. You tell _me_ what’s going on. You know this isn’t right! You’re taking that girl for no reason and threatening me for speaking out?! Rivali, you know that was Shiro in the video. And the Garrison isn’t doing anything!! I’m just trying to get them to do something.”

 

“The Garrison is doing plenty. Apparently you just don’t know about it,” Rivali responded. “I’m piloting the Kerberos investigation mission.”

 

“What happens if the same thing happens to _your_ mission? Are they just going to pretend it was your fault and let everyone think you’re dead, too? I'm not an expert but that looked like an alien abduction to me. Rivali, listen to me, Shiro and the Holts were abducted and the Garrison covered it up.”

 

“Commander!” Hughes shouted from the car. “I thought you were detaining him! We need to go!”

 

“Give me a minute, Hughes!” Rivali called back.

 

“Think about Shiro,” Erikson pleaded, trying to get through to his friend’s former mentor.

 

Hughes swore impatiently. “I swear to god if you don’t-”

 

Rivali narrowed his eyes while holding up a hand to signal for his subordinate to shut the hell up. “I’m sorry, Erikson. They’re watching me.”

 

“Who’s watching you?”

 

“You’re under arrest as a potential enemy of the state,” he said, pushing Erikson towards the vehicles.

 

“You can’t do this!” Erikson resisted. “You don’t take orders from that fucking Global Securities prick!”

 

Rivali suddenly grabbed Erikson’s hair at the scalp and growled in his ear. “Don’t make me drag you, Erikson!”

 

Moore’s head snapped to Medina whose jaw was clenched as he kept Rivali in his aim. The voices from outside trailed off as they walked away and the militarized utility vehicles roared to life. Medina abruptly lifted his head, let out a frustrated breath, and eased his grip on the handgun.

 

The shack was plunged into darkness as the vehicles turned away from the shack and towards the imprisonment camps.

 

“It’s best that you didn’t take the shot,” Moore said to Medina, knowing that he was probably wrestling with his conscience at that moment, contemplating whether he’d done the right thing or not.

 

The group sat in paralyzing silence as the events that had just taken place sunk in.

 

\-----

 

“Wait. What happened to the hot one? You guys lost him?” Elise bitched as the dusty and downtrodden team filed into Medina’s house hours later.

 

One look from Su made Elise’s fair skin even whiter. “Where’s Lourdes?”

 

“They took her,” Su responded.

 

“And Jesper,” Moore added, slumping down next to Elise on the couch.

 

Elise stood in alarm. “What?! Well, did you call the police?”

 

“It’s not that simple, Elise! If any of us calls, the Garrison could tie this all back to us,” Moore responded.

 

“So you’re just going to sit around and let them get carted off to those underground camps?!” Elise shouted.

 

“Elise, we can’t do anything for them if we’re all in there, too. OK? We need a plan first.” Moore started racking his brain for someone who would realistically notice that Erikson was missing. “We need to figure out something because his own family probably wouldn’t realize he’s missing since they don’t speak.”

 

“We don’t know much about her but maybe I could call his youngest sister and convince her to file a report,” Celine offered. “He seemed to trust her more than the rest of his family.”

 

“No phone calls, Celine. I just need to think,” Moore said. “We’re probably going to need to wait a few days anyway, right? No one realistically notices that someone’s missing for at least few days.”

 

“You’re going to wait a few days?” Elise criticized. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

 

He didn’t feel good about it but it was best to keep the rest of the group safe. Suddenly Celine pulled her phone out of her pocket and walked towards the back door. Moore rose from the couch and watched her. “I said no phone calls, Celine!!”

 

Celine ignored him and stepped outside.

 

“Celine!!”

 

“Moore, chill the fuck out.” Woolf tried to calm his friend while Celine scrolled through her contacts in the cool darkness.

 

\-----

 

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

 

“Well, I didn’t know what number to call, it’s not that kind of emergency. At least I hope it’s not.”

 

“That’s fine, I can still assist in coordinating local resources for you. I’ll just take down some basic information.”

 

“OK. I need to… well, maybe file a missing persons report. I’m just not sure what city or state to even contact because I was waiting for him to drive to L.A. from Arizona.”

 

“Not a problem. Can I have the name of the person in question?”

 

“Jesper Erikson.”

 

“Description?”

 

“Uh, twenty-five years old, white, about six-foot two, medium build, blonde hair, blue eyes.”

 

“Any other distinguishing features? Facial hair, tattoos, scars?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“And when’s the last time you saw him?”

 

Celine’s words repeated in his head. _Be vague._ “Uh, last week. But we’d made plans to meet up tonight. I haven’t heard from him and none of his friends have either. I just hope he didn’t get into a car accident.”

 

“Well, one of the first things the police will do is contact all of the hospitals in the area and along the route he would’ve taken to make sure he isn’t there. I’ll get this to the local authorities as well as the state authorities in Arizona. They’ll be in contact for additional details about places he frequented, who saw him last, things like that.”

 

“Thank you so much.”

 

“Just a few more questions to complete the inquiry. Can I ask who I’m speaking with?”

 

“Me? Um, Julian Paras.”

 

“Thank you, sir. And the number you called on is the best way to reach you?”

 

“Yes, it’s my mobile.”

 

“And your relationship to the person in question?”

 

Jules paused, thinking.

 

“Sir… Sir?”

 

“Um... boyfriend. I’m his boyfriend.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Don’t hate me, but I tried ending on a slightly positive note… Yell at me in the comments or on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/latart) all you want. Avidbeader’s comment on the previous chapter got me to play with the idea of Keith’s journal so that concept was all her. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Oh, and surprise! I made another playlist. Someone stop me. But it’s for Gwansun! It’s sort of an electronic/Asian-fusion playlist. I refrained from calling it “Blade of Mom-ora.”  
> [The Blade of Gwansun Lee](https://open.spotify.com/user/vn4nlsmslld9gxecp47ntmz4a/playlist/3pj4t02sB8CL8yH7bFmjgP)


	15. This will not be my legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erikson meets Keith’s mother in the Galra Imprisonment Camps while the team moves forward with their plans. Rivali loses a little more than just sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic language in the first scene.
> 
> Thanks as always to [avidbeader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader).

 

Erikson sat across from Hughes at a table in the shipping container he’d been held in for the past two days. He was still wearing the same clothes, hadn’t showered, and didn’t even want to know what state his hair was in. At least last night a guard had finally brought in a mattress so that he didn’t have to sleep on the metal floor. Not that he’d actually slept. 

 

Ignoring the absolute crap coming out of Hughes’ mouth, Erikson stared past the officer and at the observation windows that extended the entire length of the holding cell. His tired eyes fixated on deep scratches in the bullet-proof glass that resembled claw marks and wondered how they’d gotten there.

 

The wall opposite from the observation windows was solid corrugated metal as was one of the smaller sides of the container. The other end, however, had prison bars and a locked door that opened into a crude tunnel dug into the earth. None of the officers had come in or out from that end of the container.

 

“Look, I’m trying to cut you a deal so that we both benefit,” Hughes continued, pushing a piece of paper Erikson’s way. “We already have a public statement from your father to support everything.”

 

The mention of Erikson’s father grabbed his attention. Leaning forward, he quickly scanned the document and felt sick to his stomach. “A history of psychiatric issues?!”

 

The smug officer just nodded. “And drug abuse. A girl came forward last night and said she recently sold you prescription opioids.”

 

“I took two tablets a few weeks ago! That was it. Test me right now. I’m clean.”

 

“That’s OK, I already have test results,” the sergeant threatened as he slid another paper across the table. It was a forged urinalysis from a nearby hospital. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. Publicly admit your psych history, confirm that you were under the influence of narcotics when you made the video, and say that you’ll be admitting yourself into a rehab facility. And we’ll let you go.”

 

Erikson desperately wanted to not sleep in this shipping container another night. But this wasn’t right. This wasn’t the way out.

 

Hughes continued when Erikson didn’t respond. “It’s a very believable story. This whole scenario really plays into the whole missing persons thing going on in the news right now and-”

 

“Wait. Someone already reported me missing?” He thought that one of the guys would make the call when it was safe but he had to pretend as if they hadn’t watched him being taken away.

 

“Yeah.” The sergeant wrinkled his nose and curled his lip with disdain as he glanced at a copy of the report. “Your boyfriend. Maybe we can add sexual deviance to your list of-”

 

“I have a... boyfriend?” Erikson’s confusion quickly dissipated and his heart somersaulted.  _ Jules… I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.  _ Despite his grim situation, he suddenly felt weightlessly drunk with love and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He jumped up from the table. “I have a boyfriend!!” 

 

“Sit down,” Hughes spat. “Sign this statement, release a new video, and we’ll let you get home to your boyfriend.”

 

“But all of this would discredit my original statement,” he countered, crashing back down to reality. This would undo the work he and his friends had done. And the longer he stayed missing, the more the public would begin to question the Garrison. He slid the paper back across the table. “I’m not signing shit.”

 

“OK… I don’t think you understand. Sure, you’ll look bad in the public eye, but for a week at most. They forget easily. Just issue another statement. You can go home tonight. And fuck your boyfriend or vice versa or whatever the fuck it is that you fags do.”

 

Erikson regretted the instances when he had thrown that word around so casually. For some reason, he found himself trying to recall what Keith had said the time he’d gotten suspended shortly after Shiro was assigned to the Kerberos Mission. It was a hilarious line and he’d said it just to make the other kid squirm. “I told you, I’m not signing shit. And watch your mouth before I fuck it, straight boy.”

 

Hughes was startled by Erikson’s words and uncomfortably slid his chair away from the table. Erikson grinned inwardly and silently thanked Keith for the inappropriate comeback. “Look, if you’re not going to comply then we’ll see how you feel after hanging around here for a few weeks.”

 

_ Fuck... A few weeks? _

 

“Let me be the first to officially welcome you to the camps. Enjoy your fucking stay,” the sergeant said, gathering his reports and falsified documents. “I’ll be sure to get someone else to supervise you while you shower,” he muttered on his way out.

 

As Erikson watched the officer exit, movement near the bars at the far end of the holding cell caught his eye. It was a prisoner with a black scarf pulled over their head like a hood.  _ Maybe they know where Lourdes is.  _ Erikson stood and checked to see if Hughes was out of sight, but when he looked back, the figure had already disappeared. 

 

\-----

 

Unable to focus on page sixty-four of his dissertation, Jules made the mistake of turning to his phone for a distraction. 

 

More headlines about Jesper. More rumors questioning his credibility. More lies.

 

It took all the restraint in the world to keep Jules from saying fuck it, quitting his job, pretending his bills didn’t exist, and postponing his graduation indefinitely so that he could go to Arizona to get his boyfriend back. But Celine had said that it was best if he stayed away for now.

 

Jules threw his cell across the room in frustration. He needed a new goddamn phone anyway.

 

\-----

 

“... So far, China, Japan, India, Argentina, and the UK have extended offers to the Galaxy Garrison for collaboration in the Kerberos investigation based on work the former press secretary had done before he went missing. These proposals include supplying crewmembers from the respective space agencies in order to ensure a more impartial investigation. Galaxy Garrison press secretaries have yet to comment. 

 

“In related news, William Erikson condemned his son’s behavior in a statement he released to the press yesterday and says, quote: ‘I am deeply embarrassed. While I do worry for my son, my family’s legacy will not be marred by his actions.’ In his statement, he alleges that Jesper Erikson has a number of mental health disorders and has struggled with drug abuse for most of his life-”

 

Woolf walked in the front door from his morning run and abruptly turned off the TV when he found Celine in the same place he’d left her. “You need to stop watching this shit. You’re going to make yourself crazy.”

 

Celine just stared at the blank screen, fuming. “His father’s a monster. And no one from the Garrison will just speak up and say that they drug test their employees. Why isn’t anyone saying anything!? This is so fucked up!”

 

“Well, getting stressed out about it and obsessively watching the news it isn’t going to fix anything right now. I think Moore is going to dig around on the Garrison servers for his records if he finds time. Why don’t you help me work on the bike?”

 

“I thought Dani already painted it. What else do we need to do?”

 

“We need to uninstall those aftermarket antigrav propellers. They’re not exactly street legal.”

 

Celine shrugged, still dwelling on the negative press surrounding Erikson’s disappearance. 

 

“Or you can help Moore and Su figure out a way to make custom sugar packets.” Celine weighed her options while Woolf sat down next to her and playfully nudged her arm. “I know you like taking things apart…” he said, dangling her favorite hobby right before her eyes.

 

“Well, you guys probably should’ve painted the bike after switching out the propellers but… Fine… Bike,” she relented as Woolf stood and peeled her off of the couch.

 

Walking into the garage, she paused in the doorway to listen in on Moore’s phone conversation. “Yes, if you can get the minimum down to a hundred cases, then I can make that work… So the thing is, I’m a chemistry student and I’ve got my own product that I need packaged. I’ve developed a new artificial sweetener that I need to test and market and FDA says they need to take random samples from my first lot… Yeah, I understand there’s a surcharge to load my own product into the machine... OK. Sure, I’d love to tour the facility...” Moore looked over at Celine and gave her a thumbs up. 

 

Elise was also on the phone. But rather than bitching out any number of her usual victims- her cleaning lady, landlord, unpaid interns, underpaid assistant editors, or ex-boyfriend- she was discussing the possible codes to get into the cellar behind Keith’s shack with another Knowledge Holder.

 

In the garage, Woolf opened a box containing replacement propellers while Celine looked over the bike to see what tools she’d need. The bike had been painted a matte black. She was surprised that she felt a little sad about the change in color as she recalled watching Keith from her dorm room window as he climbed onto the vibrant red bike behind Shiro. 

 

Those were simpler times.

 

It wasn’t that the black looked bad. It was just different. It was less playful and more serious. Or maybe it was because the black just concealed all the history the bike had seen.

 

“You don’t like the color?” Woolf asked, observing her from across the garage.

 

“I don’t mind it. Just sad to see the red go, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, me too. It’s less recognizable now, which is important,” he said, lugging the box over. “Actually, I need to talk it over with the guys, but I’m thinking that we should sell the prop plane and get a few more hoverbikes instead.”

 

“Really?”

 

“The plane isn’t feasible to help rescue people when we need to find a road in order to land. And going in and out of the airport doesn’t allow us to react quickly. We can’t all fit on the plane as it is anyway. The hoverbikes will be more versatile.”

 

“Will you teach me to fly one?!”

 

“I thought you hated flying.”

 

“Hoverbikes don’t get that far off the ground. And I’d be in control. I wouldn’t be subjected to your rusty combat maneuvers,” Celine teased.

 

“Hey!” Woolf walked over, threatening to put her in some sort of a sweaty chokehold. 

 

“Ew, you’re gross right now, don’t touch me,” Celine laughed, squirming away.

 

“You want me to teach you or not?”

 

“Yes!” 

 

“Well, if I’m doing my math correctly, we might need you  _ and  _ Su to fly. We’ll have at least three people to bring back from the camps if not more. And if there’s a whole mass of people then we can use the bikes to shuttle people back and forth to a safe zone.”

 

“I’d get my own bike?!”

 

“Possibly... We can go shopping later this week. Or I was thinking that we could start looking for parts and you could build yours.”

 

Celine smiled. “You know me too well. Can I paint mine red?”

 

“Well, I thought they’d all be black. It would just be easier that way.”

 

“How would you tell them apart?”

 

“What, you want to color code them?”

 

“Maybe…”

 

“We’ll see. I’ll teach you on this one in the meantime and then you can get your civilian hovercraft license. We’ll talk colors later.”

 

\-----

 

The next morning, Erikson watched the prisoners going about their assigned duties. This was how so few Garrison employees knew about the camps. Most of the work was done by the prisoners.

 

His eye was drawn to a small gathering of people in a far corner. They were seated on the dirt floor and had been meditating for at least thirty minutes. Suddenly, the woman that seemed to be leading the group stood and turned to face in Erikson’s direction. She eerily held his gaze for a few motionless moments until Erikson looked away, unsettled.

 

\-----

 

A few I.T. guys stood at Medina’s desk, recounting some sort of ridiculous debauchery they’d gotten themselves into the night prior. Medina laughed distractedly; he was getting tired of pretending that absolutely nothing was wrong.

 

From across the room, he watched as the Kerberos Investigation press secretary, Sergeant Harper, walked towards his desk, worry written all over her face. As she approached, Medina decided to act natural and greet her as he normally did. “What up, homie?” he said, holding up his hand for a fist bump.

 

Harper chuckled as usual, returning the fist bump to humor her co-worker. “Dani, I’m white, from the burbs, and barely five feet tall. I don’t think I qualify as a ‘homie,’” she said, knowing that that was the exact reason for her nickname. The I.T. guys snickered at her response. “Do you have a minute?”

 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll catch up with you guys at lunch,” he said to his friends before standing and following the press secretary into emergency stairwell C. 

 

“What’s up?” he asked, looking around at the concrete walls.

 

“There’s no cameras in this stairwell.”

 

“Are you the asshole that’s always smoking in here?” Medina joked.

 

Harper shook her head with a slight smile. “No, that’s Peterson; Rivali on occasion, if he’s having a bad day.” 

 

“Ravioli… Why am I not surprised?” Medina said, rolling his eyes.

 

“I don’t know why you hate him so much. He’s not that bad. Of all the people on the investigation team, I probably get along with him the best,” Harper said.

 

“He’s a terrible person.”

 

“Well, whatever. He and I are cool.” Then Harper got to the point. “What’s up with Erikson?” she whispered.

 

“Um… He’s… I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him.”

 

The anxiety returned to her face. “You have no idea where he is?”

 

“No.”

 

“This is so messed up. I can’t work like this. I feel like if I say one wrong word then I’ll be next. I just want this all to be over. Did they choose me because they think I’m weak or that I’m going to be easily manipulated?”

 

Medina hoped that wasn’t their motive, but Harper was an intelligent, no-nonsense kind of girl. “No, they know how controversial this whole thing is. They need someone that can keep their cool when talking to the press,” Medina said, trying to calm her.

 

“What should I do? I want to address the possibility of international collaboration but I don’t want to end up missing because I’m saying something they don’t like!”

 

“Harper, you have to push for an international investigation.”

 

“I’ll try... What do you think happened to him?”

 

Medina shrugged. “I don’t know but they questioned me about him the same day he went missing. And I know they’re keeping an eye on me, so I gotta lie low.” Then out of morbid curiosity, he asked, “Has Rivali said anything about it?”

 

“No, he’s been a little more withdrawn for a while now, but nothing’s changed over the past few days. Or at least nothing that I’ve noticed. Why?”

 

“Just curious,” Medina lied. “I should get back to my desk. Do whatever you can so that  international agencies can get involved, OK? I’ll let you know if I hear from Erikson.”

 

“OK. Thanks.”

 

On his way back to his desk, Medina took a longer route so that he could pass Rivali’s office, just to see what the bastard was up to. Maybe Rivali would feel a pang of guilt if he saw Medina. 

 

The commander was getting up from his desk and grabbing a duffel of gear, probably heading to the zero-G sim, when Medina strolled by. He didn’t look noticeably tired or stressed. He still just looked like a fucking asshole with a manbun. OK, his hair happened to be in a ponytail today, but whatever.

 

Medina continued past, blood simmering with disgust, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Rivali’s voice behind him. “Medina?”

 

He whirled around and saw Rivali standing in the doorway of his office. And up close, there were indeed circles under his eyes.  _ Probably because he’s fucking getting old or some shit.  _

 

“I uh- I’m sorry to hear about Erikson.”

 

_ Mentiroso.  _ “Yeah… It’s kinda... crazy.” Medina wanted to unleash a flurry of spanglish, scathing accusations, and colorful insults, but he kept his mouth shut.

 

“I didn’t know he had a drug problem.”

 

_ Don’t blow up…  _ “He doesn’t. It was a long time ago. He passed every drug test while he was here.”

 

“Well… You don’t think he relapsed?”

 

“Fuck you, you don’t know shit about him.” Medina took a step closer but had to stop himself from getting in Rivali’s face.

 

“I’m just saying, my brother goes on benders and disappears every so often. Then he turns up a month later, broke as shit and a few pounds lighter.”

 

“That makes me feel better,” Medina deadpanned.

 

“Sorry… I’m just saying... My brother struggles with that shit. But he always turns up.”

 

“Well, wherever Erikson is, I’m sure he’s in good hands.”

 

Rivali furrowed his brow at that comment.

 

“Take it easy, ravioli,” Medina said before turning and walking away. 

 

“You too,” Rivali mumbled.

 

To reward himself for his relatively good behavior, Medina turned around, snapped his fingers and pointed finger guns at Rivali. He chuckled to himself on the way back to his desk knowing that Rivali would probably never understand what his gesture truly meant.

 

\-----

 

That evening felt especially dark. Erikson couldn’t understand how the prisoners weren’t going crazy without seeing the sun for so many days on end. He felt an incessant panic that intensified the longer he sat in the empty cell, left alone with his wandering thoughts. Was Lourdes safe? If she wasn’t safe was it because of him? Was Moore able to delete the contents of her phone before the Garrison tried accessing her contacts and photos? Was the team still going forward with their half-baked plan? Was Jules worried about him? Was he ever going to be let out of this shipping container? Would he be able to find Lourdes? Or Gwansun?

 

As he let out a shuddering sigh, movement near the bars of his cell once again caught his attention. The dark silhouette of a shrouded figure stood a few feet away from the bars. Perhaps the same person as before. Erikson cautiously approached the bars, ignoring the chill clawing its way up his spine at the uncanny timing. “Are you… Are you her?”

 

“Her who?” the figure replied with a harsh but feminine voice.

 

“I’m here to help. Well, I- I want to help. Are you Gwansun?”

 

The woman took a few steps closer to the bars. From under the scarf she wore as a hood, Erikson could make out long strands of pitch-black hair and a sharp chin. And a sneer. “You want to help?” she mocked. “That’s cute. The problem is that I’m still debating as to whether I should thank you or  _ kill  _ you for bringing Lourdes to me.”

 

_ This has to be Gwansun. _ “I didn’t mean to- Is she OK?”

 

“She’s fine.”

 

“I’m sorry. We were caught off guard and intercepted. This wasn’t part of the plan. Su had volunteered to get captured but not until we had solidified a proper strategy for getting you out. I tried to help Lourdes but it was all over when they noticed her eyes.”

 

The woman hummed into a bored exhale and stepped up to the bars so that she could keep her voice low. “That’s Lourdes’ story as well. I guess I’ll have to have my fun elsewhere, then. Lourdes says that there are a few of you willing to help and that you’ve already caught the public’s attention by releasing some sensitive information that the Garrison isn’t too happy about.”

 

Erikson nodded. “My friends will still move forward with the plan. We just have to keep an eye out for some sort of a communication from them.”

 

“You and your friends are the ones who released the footage of the Kerberos pilot?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You know he was abducted by the Galra, don’t you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You know that  _ I’m _ part Galra?”

 

“Y-Yes.”

 

“Lourdes says she trusts you. And although I trust Lourdes with my life, I need to find my own proof.” She reached her right hand through the bars until it hovered a few inches away from Erikson’s forehead. “I need to do this for my own peace of mind. If you’ll allow me.”

 

“What, um- What are you going to do?” Erikson asked apprehensively.

 

“Poke around in your head. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. At least not physically…”

 

Erikson thought he saw a purple light shimmer from underneath the fair skin of her palm. His heart rate spiked, but he had nothing to hide.  _ Right? _ He had to do this no matter how terrified he was. Bowing his head down, he let her hand connect with his forehead.

 

Immediately, an intense heat surrounded his skull and he felt as if he was plummeting through the floor in complete darkness. 

 

And then suddenly he found himself in a small room. A familiar home office. The muted sounds of a party going on beyond the closed door were like white noise. Erikson looked up but rather than a ceiling, he saw an immense nebula of cosmic dust hovering ominously. He watched as the glimmering dust slowly sank down into the room, but the sound of someone crying drew his attention back to the scene playing out in front of him.

 

It felt like an out of body experience as Erikson watched his fourteen-year-old self lying unconscious on the floor. His friend, Heather, was beside him, sobbing on the phone.

 

“Please hurry,” she cried. “Thirty compressions? OK… I think I can do it.” She set the phone down and the tears streaming down her cheeks reflected the stardust as she began CPR. “Please don’t die, Jesper,” she managed between tears and chest compressions. “I love you, please don’t die.”

 

Erikson was able to watch only because he knew the outcome. As he watched Heather’s face while she attempted to resuscitate him, he felt an overwhelming sense of regret. He’d only wanted to end his own suffering. Not cause suffering to others. Especially not Heather.

 

The scene was abruptly ripped away from him and he found himself standing at the Kerberos memorial while Commander Iverson gave one of countless eulogies. Moore and Woolf solemnly stood on Erikson’s left. His right hand rested on Keith’s quivering shoulder. Celine stood beside Keith, squeezing his hand.

 

Erikson remembered not being able to cry about the death of the Kerberos crew anymore. He’d repeated the words so many times to the press that he was numb. That is, until he watched Colleen Holt receive not one, but two folded flags. 

 

These lies were impacting entire families. What was he going to do? He couldn’t carry on like this. As he revisited his thoughts from that day, the cosmic dust began to descend like a fog.

 

The scene unexpectedly changed again. He and Jules were arguing about how he’d pulled away during dinner when Jules had casually leaned over to kiss him. Jules attacked him with the same questions he always asked when they fought. The room became more and more clouded. More and more suffocating. “What the fuck is this? Are you just humoring me so you have somewhere to sleep? Are you using me as a distraction because you’re a miserable prick? Do you just fuck all of your friends? Is there anything in this fucking world that actually makes you happy?!”

 

The shimmering dust was everywhere. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe.

 

Erikson jerked his head away from Gwansun’s hand because he couldn’t bear to relive all of the suffering his single existence had caused. “I’m sorry. I can’t keep going,” he gasped. Resting his forehead on the cool metal to catch his breath, he blankly stared at Gwansun’s indecipherable violet eyes. “Did I pass or did you decide that I’m too fucked up?”

 

She reached towards him again, but gave his cheek a motherly pat. “You’re a troubled soul. But you have a good heart.” 

 

He took a deep breath of relief. “That’s good… I guess.”

 

She took a step back and assessed him with scrutinizing eyes while she pulled down the scarf. Long, dark hair framed her face and a few fine lines around her eyes hinted at her age. Keith had apparently inherited many of his features from her; she was strikingly beautiful, but severely intimidating. “Can you fight?” she asked, crossing her arms.

 

“Uh... I went through boot camp and basic combat training at the Garrison. I’m a little out of practice but-”

 

“A little?” she teased with one eyebrow raised.

 

“Hey!” Erikson looked down at his stomach, he’d probably gained a few pounds when he lived with Jules but not  _ that _ many. 

 

“I’m joking. Sort of.”

 

Erikson snorted. “You’re kind of an asshole.”

 

“So are you.” She threw back the insult with a smirk.

 

Erikson couldn’t help but laugh. “Keith’s a lot like you. Looks like you, too.”

 

“Are you just saying that because all Asians look the same?”

 

“What? No! What the fuck? You are relentless!”

 

Gwansun barked a laugh. “Oh, we’re going to get along swimmingly.”

 

“Are we? Because I don’t think I’m having fun yet,” Erikson said sarcastically.

 

Gwansun dropped her voice to a whisper again. “The real fun will start when I train you to fight properly.”

 

Erikson looked over his shoulder at the security cameras positioned in the center of the shipping container. “How’s that going to happen?”

 

“Within a realm of my consciousness. They can’t read our thoughts. They have no control over the neuroplasticity of your brain while I teach you new things. You’ll learn to fight just by sitting still.”

 

“Huh…” 

 

“Do you have a meditation practice?”

 

Erikson remembered Shiro meditating from time to time but had never tried it himself or asked Shiro about it. “Um… no.”

 

She sighed. “I’m not surprised. You have a lot of work to do, then. Take a seat,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the dirt.

 

Erikson obeyed, mirroring his teacher.

 

“In order to enter my psychic realm, you will first need to learn to meditate. To meditate, you need to learn to clear your mind. Most people first learn to do this by simply bringing all of their attention to the sensation of breathing and then by counting each breath. When you notice that your mind is wandering, acknowledge it, let the thought go, and start counting over again.”

 

“Sounds exciting.” 

 

“You’ve got to start somewhere. Close your eyes and focus solely on your breathing. You can think about your mind like a body of water. It’s always moving; some days it’s choppy and other days it’s calmer. But you can make it be completely still if you try. Once you’ve achieved this stillness, begin counting your breaths,” she instructed.

 

_ OK… I can do this.  _ He closed his eyes and began following the rise and fall of his chest. He thought about the lake his crew team practiced on. As Gwansun had pointed out, the size of the waves varied, but there was always some sort of movement. However, he recalled one autumn morning when he’d gotten up especially early to practice. It also happened to be the day after he’d decided to apply to the Galaxy Garrison. The lake was serenely calm and the steam fog was slowly rising away from it. Not wanting to break the tranquility with the bow of his boat, Erikson had paused on the dock to admire the mirror-like expanse before him. With that image in his mind, he began to count each exhale.  _ One… Two… Three… I wonder if Jules- Dammit! OK, try again. One… Two… How did he find out? Maybe Woolf called- Fuck! _

 

Erikson furrowed his brow.  _ Why is this so fucking hard? Just stop thinking. One… Two… Three… Four… Five... I hope the Garrison isn’t looking for Jules. I’ll fucking kill those bastards-  _ “Goddammit!” he growled out loud.

 

“Stop thinking about the boy,” Gwansun said.

 

Erikson opened his eyes. “How did you know-”

 

“Is it helping him by dwelling on what has happened or what might happen? Especially considering that you can’t do anything about it in this moment?”

 

“No…”

 

“And is it helping  _ you _ ?”

 

“No.”

 

“So think about it when the time calls for it.”

 

“OK. But, why is this so hard?”

 

“It’s our nature. It takes a lot of discipline and practice to quiet the mind.” She then stood. “I need you to practice meditating for the next three days. I’ll come by to see how you’re doing at the end of the third day.”

 

Erikson groaned. 

 

“Do you have something better to do?” she challenged.

 

“I... guess not,” Erikson pouted. “So, how long do I need to meditate each of the three days? A few hours?”  _ How will I time it? There’s no clock in- _

 

“I said three days. As in  _ all _ three days.”

 

“Wait. The entire time?!”

 

She nodded. “I’ll allow potty breaks, but you’ll be lucky if you’ve made any progress by the end of the third day.”

 

“Awesome… What am I looking for exactly?”

 

“Trust me, you’ll know when you get there.  _ If _ you get there.” Gwansun took two steps down the hallway and then turned back around. “By the way, in one of your visions I saw a woman receiving two flags at the Kerberos memorial. Was that Commander Holt’s wife?”

 

“Yeah. Colleen. Why?”

 

“She’s here, you know. I’ve seen her around, but had no idea who she was until now.”

 

“Colleen Holt?! What is she doing here?” Erikson had tried contacting her a few weeks after his resignation but she never returned his calls. 

 

“She’s definitely a prisoner but it appears that she thinks she works here. I don’t know where she sleeps but I’ve noticed her in the offices and observation rooms from time to time. She seems to just organize paperwork, fill out purchase orders, things of that nature.”

 

Erikson’s mind started racing again.  _ How long has she been down here? Why would she be so accepting of a position in the camps? What is- _

 

“It’s the food.” Gwansun read and interrupted Erikson’s internal dialogue for what felt like the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes.

 

“The food?”

 

“There’s sedatives in the food. That’s why no one complains. No one rebels.”

 

_ This is insane. _ “So… you just don’t eat?” 

 

“I eat. But only the meat, vegetables, and fruit that are in a recognizable state. Stay away from mashed potatoes, soups, things like that where crushed meds are easily mixed in. You might be getting the officer’s meals while you’re up here. But if they make you join us, you’ll need to scrutinize the things you eat.”

 

“Are you just trying to put me on a diet? You’re all zen until it comes to ridiculing people about their love handles.”

 

She shook her head with a smile and for a split second, Erikson thought it was Keith, standing in front of him. “Oh my god. I was joking. You don’t have love handles. I didn’t know you were going to be so sensitive about your weight,” she teased. “Worry about the food when the time comes. For now, we both need to get some sleep.”

 

“OK. Thank you for trusting me. And I should probably thank you for teaching me to meditate, although I have a feeling I’ll be cursing your name a lot tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, you’re going to hate me,” she laughed. Her smile faded but her eyes softened. “You know, I always wondered if there would be a day when I wouldn’t have to hide anymore and the name that I’d chosen would just stick since the people around me would only know me by that name. It seems that now might be that time. I picked a lot of random names in the past, at least Gwansun was a good choice.”

 

“What does it mean?”

 

“Yu Gwan Sun was a political activist who fought for Korea’s independence. She’s essentially the Joan of Arc of Korea.”

 

“I guess that name is fitting then.”

 

“Ah, but she is honored as a  _ peaceful _ protester. This will not be my legacy, unfortunately. But I hope that I may live up to the name in some other way.”

 

“You will,” Erikson assured her. “Nice to meet you, Gwansun.”

 

Gwansun bowed her head. “Nice to meet you, Jesper. I’ll be back in three days.”

 

\-----

 

As she made her way back to her bunk, Gwansun stopped to check on Lourdes. She was seated on the ground, biting her lip in concentration and ripping up a worn and dated magazine.

 

“How are you holding up?” she asked, suspiciously eyeing the mess of paper scattered on the dirt floor.

 

“Managing,” Lourdes answered while folding a sheet of paper. “Did you talk to him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And…”

 

“You were right,” Gwansun conceded.

 

Lourdes just shot her a satisfied grin before returning her focus to the folded paper in her hands. “I know he wasn’t part of the plan, but for some reason, I feel better knowing he’s here.”

 

“I do, too. I think he’ll be important in helping us.” Gwansun paused and watched Lourdes some more. She then opened one of the metal drawers next to Lourdes’ cot and inspected its contents. It was practically overflowing with napkins and scrap paper. All folded into triangles. “What are you doing?”

 

Lourdes finished neatly folding another triangle. “Sending word. They’re going to monitor the trash since it’s the only thing that leaves the camps. Triangles just mean that we’re preparing and moving forward with the plan. Or at least what we started planning.”

 

“Hmm… interesting. The guards are going to think that you’ve lost your mind.”

 

“That’s fine. That would make all this less suspicious, then. Are there clear plastic bags anywhere? All the trash receptacles have paper bags. I know the triangles will just get mixed in the trash, but I’m hoping that if there’s a clear bag with a bunch of triangles in it, then I can hide a message in that bag.”

 

Gwansun thought. “I heard they did away with plastic bags years ago after someone tried suffocating one of the guards. But there has to be something in the kitchen. The restaurant I lived next to received bread each morning on these big trays covered in plastic.”

 

“Maybe I can get reassigned to the kitchen stockroom,” Lourdes said.

 

“Good idea. What’s the first message?”

 

“I thought about just giving a number of Garrison personnel that are down here on any given day. If we had the right tools, we’d get out of here easily. There aren’t a lot of armed guards.”

 

Gwansun nodded in agreement but had an idea. “We’d be properly armed if they stopped the medication that gets dumped into the food supply. We have the numbers. The prisoners here just need some anger and determination for a proper rebellion.”

 

Lourdes looked up again. “That didn’t even occur to me. It’s not something Wesley was considering either. I’ll include that in the message.”

 

“It would need to be gradual,” Gwansun added. “The Garrison would notice if the entire camp started going through withdrawal.”

 

“Got it,” Lourdes noted, beginning work on her next triangle.

 

Gwansun smiled at her resourceful colleague and then looked around at the surrounding dirt walls and dim lights. Prisoners’ voices gradually quieted down as they turned in for the night, retiring to their assigned quarters sectioned off by dusty rags on clotheslines like makeshift hospital curtains. She looked up at the menacing shipping containers buried high up into the sides of the walls, watching over the cavernous underground prison. A prison that would, one day, no longer be able to contain her.

 

\-----

 

Rivali walked into his bedroom to answer his phone. He’d torn apart every room last week but, as far as he could tell, the kitchen and living area were the only rooms that Global Securities had bugged.

 

“Hey, Brianna,” he said, sitting on the edge of his bed and holding his forehead. It took way too much energy to not sound as frazzled as he actually was.

 

Brianna sounded hesitant. “Hey, Dad. How’s it going?”

 

Rivali groaned. “Oh, you know, living the dream…”

 

“I just called to let you know- Um… I got the papers in the mail today.”

 

“What papers?”

 

“For the name change. It’s official.”

 

_ Right…  _ “So, you’re officially Brianna Stuart?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Rivali swallowed around the lump in his throat. “It’s better this way. We already talked about it. You know, if anything happened to your mom, especially if I was away on a mission- You’d at least be able to stay there with your stepdad and wouldn’t wind up in a foster home or anything.”

 

Brianna sniffled into the phone. “I know… OK. I just wanted to tell you.”

 

“OK. It’s all right, Brianna. It’s just a name.” He actually needed more convincing than she did.

 

“I know. I love you.”

 

Rivali clenched his eyes tightly. “Love you, too.” 

 

And just like that, his family name would probably end with him. Like most Italian-American families, his had been proud of their name and how it had been carried through the generations that had emigrated from Piemonte. But it was a small family and his older brother would likely never have kids. Nonna Rivali had lamented when she found out that her great grandchild would be a girl. But at a fairly young age, Briana had always insisted that she wouldn’t change her name when she got married. 

 

And now she had just legally changed her name. Mostly due to Rivali’s inconsistent involvement in her life. Because he’d always prioritized the Garrison over his family. 

 

And look where that had gotten him. 

 

Rivali collapsed on top of his bed, dreading another sleepless night. He was tired. He was so goddamn tired but his racing mind refused to let him sleep.

 

If his bright and talented young daughter was no longer his legacy, then what was?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Thanks for reading!
> 
> I finally sat down and planned out the ending. I’m very excited and can’t wait to share my ideas with everyone. I’m anticipating another 3-4 chapters (don’t hold me to it, I usually plan way too much for each chapter) for Aftermath and then a 1-2 chapter continuation for a Part 5 to end the entire series.


	16. He's not one of us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not hiding. I wanna hear what this prick has to say,” Elise said, whirling around with the largest knife she could find. “Answer the door, Wesley.”
> 
> Moore walked towards the front door as Rivali pounded on it. Flanked by two knife-wielding women, Moore threw the door open...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ice storm + insomnia + avidbeader beta reading on vacation = this chapter ready earlier than anticipated.

 

“Did you do this?” Moore bombarded Medina with the latest headline pulled up on his phone while his friend staggered sleepily down the stairs in the morning.

 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Actually, don’t answer that. No talking until I have caffeine,” Medina answered, pushing past Moore and into the kitchen .

 

Moore ignored his friend’s request and read the headline aloud. “‘Not an addict: Jesper Erikson’s drug test results from Galaxy Garrison tenure released by anonymous source.’”

 

“How the hell would I dig up that stuff?”

 

“I don’t know, you’re friends with everyone. Do you think it was Harper?” Moore questioned.

 

“She wouldn't have access to those kinds of records. And I thought I said no talking. Coffee first,” Medina grumbled.

 

“This is good but- We have to find out who this is. We need to know who else is behind us.” Moore was determined. He had to know.

 

“Easier said than done. Everyone’s scared to talk about anything pertaining to Kerberos. You’re extra twitchy this morning. Sit down and relax. I’m anxious just lookin’ at you.”

 

Moore hardly heard Medina as he paced, lost in thought. _I need to figure out who this is. Who else is with us?_

 

\-----

 

Eyes closed in concentration, Erikson became aware of the lights in the camp dimming, signaling an end to another day. Sitting alone with his breath had nearly driven him mad the first day. So halfway through the second day, rather than dismissing the persistent fears and regrets that disrupted the stillness he was struggling to achieve, he began following the negative thoughts to see where they led him. He knew he wasn’t following protocol, but if he could let go of them whenever he wished, maybe he’d learn something.

 

Today he began noticing something different; the painful feelings were still uncomfortable, but they didn’t elicit the same overwhelming and visceral reactions as usual. It was almost as if he was able to observe them from a distance. They were able to coexist rather than battle for control.

 

As Erikson reflected on this new sensation, he felt a warming presence envelop his mind. Although it was soothing, it was foreign. His eyes fluttered open and he found Gwansun seated in front of him on the other side of the prison bars. “It’s been three days. How do you feel being here now?” she asked.

 

“The same. Still scared. But a little calmer today. I know you said to dismiss any distracting thoughts, but when I concentrate on a negative feeling, it’s like I become more comfortable with it. Like it’s not inside of me, but... next to me.”

 

Gwansun grinned. “Good. So these feelings are not a part of you?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“They don’t define you?”

 

“No.”

 

“You have detached yourself from them?”

 

“I think I’m starting to.”

 

“Good. When we control our mind, we control our path. Our thoughts and feelings are just thoughts and feelings. They do not harm us unless we allow them to. With realization, comes freedom. You’ll be ready sooner than I thought.”

 

“Really?”

 

Gwansun nodded. “When you start your meditation tomorrow, stabilize your mind first. Then, dig deep down and concentrate on what drives you. Find what makes this life worth living. Find the love inside of you. Let it fuel your purpose. And harness it.”

 

Erikson felt determination electrifying his blood, an image of Jules already in his head. The image quickly morphed to include his friends. “OK.”

 

“Your mind will still wander even though you’re concentrating on one thing. Just nudge it back on the right path so that the subject of your meditation receives your full attention. Love deserves our full attention. When I lost sight of this, I gave up. I have resolved to never let that happen again; I owe Keith at least that much. Try this method of meditation and I’ll be back in two more days.”

 

\-----

 

“I seriously wish there was a better way to go about this,” Celine complained as the team approached the trash collection site after the Garrison vehicles left.

 

“We just need to keep doing this every day until we see the first communication and then establish a frequency after that,” Moore said, hoisting himself up onto the loading dock. Once inside, the group began slashing open the trash bags that had just been delivered. The black plastic bags were filled with smaller paper bags. Moore remembered the stories his parents had told him about the resourceful psychiatric patients they encountered at various hospitals. Name tag lanyards and handles broken off of plastic coffee mugs quickly became weapons in the right hands. He assumed plastic bags weren’t used in the imprisonment camps for the same reasons that they weren’t used in hospital psych units.

 

“I second Celine. This is the fucking worst,” Elise added, moving half as quickly as everyone else.

 

Moore rolled his eyes. He originally thought that if everyone was involved in the process then a) it would go faster, and b) no one would be annoyed that someone was getting out of the dirty work. But certain team members bitched more than others… Ignoring more grumbling coming from Elise’s direction, Moore noted how the bags were in a similar order as the last few days. Kitchen waste was always in the first half of the collection of bags, the next few were paper product waste from the bathrooms, and the rest were just random collections of trash, likely from the prisoners’ personal quarters. _They collect the trash around the camps in the same order each day._

 

He walked along the wall and started counting the trash bags. Once a pattern was detected, this would get easier. They’d be able to pinpoint the exact group of bags to check. He slit a bag open and cut through the smaller bags within, looking for any sort of sign. Something. _Anything._

 

He moved to the next. _Random trash, mostly paper._ And then the next. _More fucking paper. They need to be recycling this shit._ And then the next- _Triangles._ Hundreds of them. “Here!” he called out.

 

The group gathered around. “Lourdes!” Elise cheered at the sight of the folded paper shapes. “This stupid idea actually worked.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t hear any better ideas from you. We didn’t have many options,” Moore argued in defense of Lourdes’ triangles.

 

“How long did it take her to make all of these?” Celine asked.

 

“Had to’ve taken days,” Su speculated.

 

Moore nodded in agreement. “She probably has to make a bunch and then throw them out together so that they’re noticeable enough for us. We’ll check every day until we see them again. And then we’ll assume that’s the frequency. Maybe it’ll be every three or four days.”

 

Celine stepped to the next bag and slashed it open with her boxcutter. More triangles were mixed in with the trash. “Wait. There’s a small plastic bag filled with them here,” she said, reaching down and pulling out a sleeve that had previously held one hundred disposable cups.

 

“That’s weird, because the rest of them are just mixed in with everything else,” Woolf noted, poking around inside the bag.

 

Moore checked the time and handed out lighters. “Well, let’s bring that back with us. We’ve got thirty minutes to seal up the bags and get out of here before this stuff is picked up.”

 

\-----

 

Back at the house, Moore emptied the bag of triangles onto the coffee table. Inside was a single sheet of paper with mismatched letters torn from magazines and newspapers. The paper was severely warped by the heavy-duty adhesive Lourdes had used to glue everything down. _It was probably all she could find in some maintenance closet._

 

“Looks like your girlfriend’s a serial killer,” Medina joked as he looked over Moore’s shoulder.

 

“Well, apparently there’s no writing utensils,” Moore observed. Even so, the paper was creepy to look at. It looked like a ransom note straight out of an over-the-top action flick from the nineties. The problem was that the letters didn’t make much sense. They just seemed like they were glued haphazardly with the occasional letter glued upside down- _Oh, wait…_

 

Moore rotated the paper and the message leapt out at him:

_We are safe_

_25 armed + 5 officers_

_500 prisoners_

_Taper Rx in food_

 

 _Rx in food? What the fuck does she mean by- Shit..._ Moore’s eyes went wide. “There’s medication in the food.”

 

“Anything good?” Elise asked, ice clinking as she sipped her hard-earned whisky. Both Moore and Su shot her an annoyed look.

 

“I’m assuming it’s a nice blend of benzos and antidepressants, maybe some sleep aids. We need to look at the food supply facility again. We know how to sneak in our cases of sugar when they’re ready but I never thought to look at what’s being added to the food. We’ll have to investigate tonight. There’s no point in rushing the explosives if the prisoners are medicated and indifferent about escaping.”

 

\-----

 

Once again, Erikson’s meditation was interrupted by a pulsating and comforting presence. Once again, Gwansun was seated before him. “How did you know I was here?” she questioned.

 

“I don’t know. I just… felt something,” Erikson answered, struggling to define exactly how he sensed that she was near.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

The love that had been radiating from his heart during meditation dissipated and Erikson suddenly felt empty and unsure. Holding his focus long enough was already a challenge; remembering how to fight added a very complicated layer.

 

Sensing his uncertainty, Gwansun offered some reassuring words. “Your meditation has served two purposes. One is so that you can enter my consciousness. But the second is to improve your awareness and focus, which are essential to honing your fighting skills. You will be able to manipulate your energy in ways that were not possible before.”

 

“And I thought you were just helping me be a better person.”

 

“Oh, you’re screwed in that department,” Gwansun bantered.  “You’re right, though, it _will_ help make you a more resilient and appreciative individual.”

 

Acknowledging that his anxiety stemmed from his avoidance of failure, Erikson pushed all doubt aside. Just like the negative feelings during his meditation, he had to face it rather than trying to evade it. “OK... I’m ready to try.”

 

Gwansun’s face softened with approval. “Good. We are both going to meditate and you are going to look for the same energy you sensed when I arrived. Focus only on that and I will try to guide you in. Once you are with me, you _must_ stay in the present. The second you become distracted, you will fall out of my consciousness. If that happens, don't get upset. Learn from it and try again.”

 

Erikson nodded and closed his eyes. It took a few minutes, but he found Gwansun’s familiar aura and concentrated on it. It began to feel as if he was gliding towards her.  Slowly, soft threads of pink light materialized from underneath his eyelids. The colors flooded his vision and began pulsing like a heartbeat. Each pulse brought flickers of new surroundings until finally, he found himself on the edge of a cliff in a desert of pink sand. Below him was an immense valley filled with stars, calling him to step over the precipice. The stars flickered and dimmed as Erikson’s fear crept back into his mind. But when he shook the uncertainty from his head and found his breath, the stars brightened in response. Letting his determination guide him, he left the final dredges of self-doubt behind and stepped over.

 

He was suddenly seated on a rose-colored plane, the stars now above him, Gwansun’s figure seated before him. She glowed brilliantly. “You are now in my psychic realm.” Her voice sounded as if there were three of her speaking at once. “Welcome.”

 

“Uh… thanks for having me,” Erikson responded, taking in the surreal landscape. The perfectly flat and gleaming plane extended as far as his eyes could see. Stars dotted the black sky, occasionally obscured by pink and magenta clouds. He stood, testing his body in the new realm while his teacher observed him with amusement. The gravity was almost the same, but when he looked down, the reflection from the stars above made him dizzy.

 

Gwansun closed her eyes and the matter below Erikson’s feet morphed into something closer in appearance and density to pavement. “Better?” she asked.

 

“Um, yeah... This is crazy,” Erikson said, still looking around while Gwansun stood up.

 

“I’m afraid the gravity isn’t exact, you’ll find a bit more weightlessness in your movements as we spar, but this is the best I can do. Well, let’s not waste any time. I’ll go easy on you so you can get used to this,” she said, widening her stance.

 

Basic training began flooding Erikson’s memory as he took his stance and raised his fists, recalling the blend of Krav Maga, traditional boxing, and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu that influenced the combat techniques taught at the Garrison. _This is going to be interesting..._

 

\-----

 

Moore sat at the kitchen table with Elise and Su, brainstorming on how to taper the medication in the imprisonment camp food supply. There were so many medication interactions to consider that it made Moore’s head hurt. And Elise wasn’t helping.

 

“Let’s just pick a few medications that most people are on,” Moore reasoned. “The prisoners don’t go outside at all, right? We find vitamin D tablets, and I don't know, like an antacid or something relatively benign. And aspirin or ibuprofen.”

 

“NSAIDs are a bad idea, there’s a serious risk for liver toxicity,” Elise countered, sipping honey-colored liquor from a glass.

 

 _Oh, the irony..._  Moore took a deep breath to calm himself. “Well, I think ibuprofen is safer than acetaminophen. Would you like to do some research and pull up some articles for the group to review before we decide? We need something affordable and available over-the-counter. We can dilute the meds with flour for now but the consistency will change the more we do it. We’ve gotta replace it with other pills.”

 

“But what if we give everyone aspirin and someone bleeds out? What if we give them ibuprofen and someone’s liver goes to shit?”

 

Moore shook his head. “OK, we’re talking about freedom or an unlikely incidence of liver damage. I’d take freedom with a side of cirrhosis over imprisonment any day,” he argued.

 

“What are those little placebo pills in birth control made of?”

 

“I have no fucking idea! Why don’t you save up those seven pills every month from your birth control and maybe we’ll have enough to get Gwansun out in forty years!” Moore felt like Medina, getting all fired up and annoyed by every single thing Elise said. Actually, Medina wasn’t there to bear the brunt of Elise’s infuriating personality. Maybe that’s why he currently found himself shouting about birth control pills.

 

Elise just waved her hand. “I have an IUD.”

 

“Too much information, Elise,” he groaned, voice muffled by his hands covering his face.

 

\-----

 

“You think they’re doing OK in there? I think I heard Moore shout again,” Celine said, looking towards the door that led from the garage and into the house.

 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Woolf answered, inspecting the bike they’d fixed up and painted last night. “Yellow, huh?”

 

“I think it looks cool against the black. It’s not like the entire thing is yellow.”

 

“Who’s driving the hoverbike with yellow stripes?” Woolf asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not me.”

 

“I don’t know, it just looks nice. You’re getting blue stripes,” she said, gesturing to the third bike they’d acquired.

 

“OK… Just consider who’s flying the damn things and don’t make one that’s all pink and sparkly.”

 

“Because I’m so pink and sparkly,” Celine deadpanned with unenthusiastic jazz hands.

 

“Yeah, but you’d do it to fuck with one of us,” Woolf countered.

 

“True…”

 

“It’s me, you, Moore, and Medina. Maybe Su, although she hasn’t practiced at all yet and you’ve already logged at least twenty hours for your license. So depending on when this goes down, I don’t know if we can rely on her to fly.”

 

“What about you?” Celine questioned. Woolf’s vacation time was up in a few days. And, while she knew it was more practical to have a boyfriend with a steady job, she just wanted him to quit and be around all the time. Plus there was that whole prison break thing they were planning. “And who am I going to fly with to get the rest of my hours? Moore’s crazy busy. Medina’s working even longer hours.”

 

“I’m sure the guys will find the time. Or you can sign up for one of those weekend training courses.”

 

Celine wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, that's going to be such a waste of time. I need to practice high-speed evasive maneuverability, not parallel parking and yielding to pedestrians.”

 

“I know, because fuck pedestrians, right?” Woolf joked. Celine just rolled her eyes. Woolf walked over and wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll figure it out, darling. Someone will teach you to tear shit up on your hoverbike, OK?”

 

\----

 

Erikson and Gwansun finished another training session by meditating. Meditation within meditation was strange at first, but Erikson was becoming more adaptable by the minute.

 

Gwansun opened her eyes, ready to offer some closing pointers for Erikson to consider. “Remember to pause to observe your opponent. Watch for their weaknesses. Let them waste their energy and wear themselves out. Stand your ground, conserve your energy, and wait for the right moment to strike.”

 

“OK.”

 

“You’re making excellent progress.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I mean, at this rate, your love handles will hardly be noticeable in a few months,” she teased.

 

“I wish I could say the same for those wrinkles,” Erikson shot back.

 

Gwansun pretended to be offended as she poured tea. “I officially despise you now.”

 

Suddenly, a purple bolt of electricity cut across the stars above. An ominous violet hue saturated the astral surroundings, the temperature plummeted, and a terrifying and dark energy overcame Erikson. He opened his eyes and found himself back in his cell gasping for air.

 

From the other side of the bars, Gwansun opened her eyes as well.

 

“What the fuck?! What was that?” Erikson managed between breaths.

 

The shock faded from Gwansun’s face as she collected her thoughts. “It’s Zarkon. He’s searching for someone. Or something. Probably Voltron, which is good. That means he hasn’t captured them yet.”

 

Erikson shuddered, still recovering from the strange occurrence. “That’s creepy. How can he travel into your psychic realm to search for something?”

 

“After almost three weeks of meditation, I'm sure you can figure out the answer to that.”

 

“What, that we're all connected and shit? I don’t feel like singing ‘Kumbaya.’”

 

Gwansun snorted. “Neither do I. But, yes, we are all biologically derived from the same stars. He’s also taken over so much of the universe that his energy is literally everywhere. And as he conquers more of the universe, and more of its quintessence, he conquers more of us. He’s connected to everything and he’s getting stronger.” She paused and dropped her head. “Getting out of here is a feat on its own. But beyond Earth... defeating Zarkon? I can’t fathom it sometimes.”

 

“I don’t know a whole lot about this, but aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be able to defeat him? I thought you and your family are the only ones that can unite everyone and stop this war.”

 

“Sort of. I just don’t think it’s meant to be me.”

 

“So… Keith?”

 

“I believe so. But I have a daughter as well. Axca.”

 

“Wait, where is she? Does Keith know her? He never mentioned a sister.”

 

“No, they’ve never met, to my knowledge. Axca has a different father… Her father is entirely Galra and I wasn’t able to raise her here. I made him take her when he left Earth and I haven’t heard from them since. And then I met Keith’s father a few years later...”

 

Erikson scratched at the stubble alone his jawline. “Wow. You really got around back in your day,” he teased.

 

“I’ll make you pay for that next time we meet,” she threatened with a grin.

 

Erikson laughed. “I don’t doubt that...”

 

“Looking forward to it, then.” Gwansun shifted to stand up, but then paused. “What is Keith like?”

 

“Um, I didn’t know him that well but he’s really smart and dedicated. He’s a little introverted and wary of most people. You have to earn his trust, which is a good thing. He opens up once he’s comfortable around you. He was an amazing pilot and definitely would’ve beaten all of Shiro’s records if he’d stayed at the Garrison.”

 

“Was he happy?”

 

“He was really happy with Shiro. I don’t think I told you, but they were together. And the look on Keith’s face in the security camera footage when he found him again was- They really love each other.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Gwansun said quietly. “He didn’t seem that happy when I had people check on him in the foster homes. Unfortunately, being separated was a necessary evil at the time. I hope he still remembers me. I hope he’ll forgive me.” Gwansun sighed and stood up. “Well, I’m sure Hughes will be by in the next few days looking for his precious statement. Do what you can to get out of this shipping container and into the camps with the rest of us. Making our preparations will be easier that way.”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

 

She pulled her scarf up around her head but before she disappeared into the tunnel, Erikson spoke up. “When you face Zarkon, you won't be alone.”

 

Gwansun thanked her pupil with a smile and a quick bow of her head before walking away.

 

\-----

 

A day later, Erikson found himself face to face with Hughes again.

 

“Have you given our last discussion any more thought? You’re a mentally unstable drug addict that’s been living in and out of rural motels for the past few weeks, but you’re ready to set the record straight. You’re going to tell the public that you were in a dark place when you made up your original statement and that it is completely false.” When Erikson didn’t react, he prodded some more. “Don’t you want to go home? I’m sure your boyfriend is worried sick.”

 

Erikson wanted to wipe Hughes’ self-righteous grin off of his face. Instead, he drew in a steady breath and detached himself from his anger by objectively observing it. He wouldn’t permit Hughes have that kind of power over him. He wasn’t worth it. “Hughes, I think you should let me go because it’s the right thing to do and not because I agree to add onto your elaborate network of lies,” Erikson replied calmly.

 

_Observe your opponent._

 

Hughes gritted his teeth. “Seriously? This is getting ridiculous. It’s pointless to keep resisting.”

 

_Watch for their weaknesses._

 

“I’m sorry that they’ve deceived you as well. They’re lying to everyone. I wish you could see it.”

 

_Let them waste their energy and wear themselves out._

 

Hughes began losing his temper and slammed his fist on the table. “I’m not fucking around, Erikson! You’ll be in here for another month if you let me walk out that door without a confession.”

 

_Stand your ground, conserve your energy…_

 

Erikson shrugged. “I’m just doing what’s right. Are you?”

 

Infuriated by Erikson’s indifference, rage began to overcome the sergeant’s composure. A blood vessel in his temple protruded and his nostrils flared. “Fine! You’re going to rot in here a lot longer, then! And maybe we’ve been pampering you too much. Maybe we should let you join the rest of the prisoners.”

 

_...and wait for the right moment to strike._

 

\-----

 

Within an hour, Erikson found himself wandering around the camps, waiting for a uniform, a bunk, and a work assignment. The prisoners stared at him as he searched for Gwansun. Did they stare because he was new? Or did they know that he wasn’t one of them. Something in their glares told Erikson it was the latter. His eye color didn’t belong.

 

He recalled how Elise mentioned that many of the Marmoran people on Earth were not privy to their alien heritage. And the ones that did know, were trying to avoid it or forget it altogether. If that was the case, then between the sedatives and the prisoners’ lack of a strong and cohesive identity, why would they care or notice if he was an outsider?

 

Maybe Gwansun was getting through to them. Maybe they were beginning to to believe. Maybe the effects of the medications were beginning to slowly wear off.

 

\-----

 

It was dark out when Su and Moore finished crushing the last bottle of ibuprofen in the kitchen while Elise finished up a video conference with her staff. Medina was staying the night at Nadia’s and Woolf and Celine had gone out to dinner before Woolf left for Seattle the next morning.

 

Su suddenly paused and looked towards the front of the house. “We expecting someone?”

 

“Huh?” Then Moore heard the growling V-8 engine of a sportscar approach from down the quiet street and slowly pass Medina’s house. Su jumped up to peer out the window while Moore quickly pulled up the app for the security cameras he’d installed around the house a few months ago.

 

Moore zoomed and watched a black Challenger Hellcat park on the street a few houses down. The car looked familiar. _Whose fucking car is that? Think…_

 

Elise quickly ended her video conference when Su began pacing the living area. “You’re making me nervous. What the fuck is going on, Su?” They shared a look that Moore had witnessed on multiple occasions: the look where Su conveyed an entire sentence with just her eyes. “Shit. Where’s Diego’s gun?”

 

“He locks it away when he gets home from work,” Su answered. Moore briefly found himself wondering if Su had previously looked for the gun but his thoughts were interrupted as Elise hurried into the kitchen. She frantically rifled through the drawers while Su unsheathed the knife she usually carried.

 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s necessary-” Movement in the the video camera feed caught Moore’s attention again. He watched Rivali get out of the car and walk towards the house. _Fuck… OK, I hope weapons aren't necessary… What does he want? Why is he here? All of the downstairs lights are on. Too late to pretend that no one’s home._

 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Su asked, violet eyes intense with hate.

 

“He’s alone,” Moore responded. _That’s better... Right?_ “Let me handle this, the both of you should hide upstairs.”

 

“I’m not hiding. I wanna hear what this prick has to say,” Elise said, whirling around with the largest knife she could find. “Answer the door, Wesley.”

 

Moore walked towards the front door as Rivali pounded on it. Flanked by two knife-wielding women, Moore threw the door open, wondering what this sight looked like to Rivali. He sort of wished he was holding something dangerously sharp as well.

 

“Moore! I need-” The relief on Rivali’s face melted away when his dark eyes darted to Su’s purple ones. “Who are they?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. What do you want?”

 

“Is Medina home?”

 

“No. And you’re pretty fucking lucky that he’s not,” Moore spat.

 

Rivali raised an eyebrow. “Uh, am I… interrupting something?”

 

Moore’s face felt hot at the implication. “What? No! Just- Why the fuck are you here?”

 

“I need to talk to you-”

 

“Spit it out, then,” Elise interjected. “It’s pretty ballsy of you to walk into the lion’s den. This oughta be good.”

 

Rivali nervously looked between the two girls and swallowed before continuing. “Moore, I’m…  I’m going to stand down from the Kerberos investigation. Harper already drew up the paperwork. I can’t appoint my successor but I can choose the team before I quit. I’m going to appoint a pilot from Japan, a senior-level investigator from Argentina, and another from China. Once they confirm, we’ll notify the public and then I’ll step down as commander. And then the Garrison will probably fire me.”

 

 _Whoa…_ Moore ignored his gut reaction and feigned indifference. “You came to Medina’s just to tell me this? Go do it. What are you waiting for?”

 

“Before I do this, I need you to look into something.”

 

Moore shook his head and began closing the door in the older man’s face. “I don’t have time for petty side projects.”

 

“No! Hear me out!” Rivali said, grabbing the door.

 

Elise pointed the kitchen knife at Rivali’s throat. “Watch yourself. He said no.”

 

“It’s about Adisa!” Rivali blurted.

 

 _You have my attention…_ “What about him?” _Wait a minute…_ Rivali’s words from outside of the shack replayed in Moore’s head. ‘ _They’re watching me_.’

 

 _This is a trap. This is a goddamn trap._ “Where’s your phone?” Moore hissed.

 

“I left it in my car to be safe. Can I just come in?” Rivali asked, looking over his shoulder. “Global Securities follows me home sometimes. That’s why I didn’t park in the driveway.”

 

“Where’s your gun?”

 

“Locked in the glove compartment.”

 

Moore glanced at Su who gave him the go-ahead with a quick nod. “OK, Rivali. You’ve got five minutes. And then you’re leaving. And you’re proving to me that your phone and gun aren’t on you.”

 

Rivali stepped into the house and shrugged off his leather biker jacket, handing it over for Moore to search while he emptied the pockets of his olive-drab uniform pants. “That’s it,” Rivali said, holding up his hands.

 

Moore didn’t want to physically search the guy. But he also couldn’t take chances. “Socks,” Moore demanded.

 

“Oh, Jesus, Moore. Really?” Rivali scoffed but complied and rolled up his pant legs to show he wasn’t concealing anything. “We done?”

 

Satisfied, Moore nodded. Rivali had already shed his uniform shirt, just like he’d always done the moment he was off-duty, and it was obvious he didn’t have anything concealed under his white tee. “OK, so... what about Adisa? I can’t hack him. There’s way too many layers of security to obtain his level of access.”

 

Rivali grabbed his jacket from Moore and pulled out some folded papers from the inside pocket. “So, I’m in the archives a lot. Have you ever been down there?”

 

“Once. A long time ago,” Moore responded.

 

“Well, the boiler room is also down there. Maintenance is in there every so often but they monitor most of that stuff with computers.”

 

“OK…” Moore gestured impatiently.

 

“I was down there yesterday and I saw Adisa coming out of the boiler room. This is the second time I’ve seen him come out of there.”

 

Moore wanted to dismiss the observation but… “Why would the highest-ranking person at the Galaxy Garrison be in the boiler room?”

 

Rivali’s eyes lightened with hope. “Exactly! I brought a copy of the blueprints of the building. There’s another room off of the boiler room.” He unfolded one of the papers and shoved it in Moore’s face. “There’s something in there. We need to find out what it is.”

 

Moore inspected the lines on the blueprint. There was indeed another room attached to the boiler room. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was a major piece missing in the puzzle. Maybe Rivali was onto something. _Maybe... No._ He had to remember Lourdes. And Erikson. And Keith. Rivali couldn’t be trusted.

 

Aware of Moore’s mounting skepticism, Rivali flipped one of the sheets of paper over. “I looked up the I.T. department’s equipment numbers for the security cameras so you can see for yourself. You can hack the cameras right?”

 

Moore shrugged. “I might be able to.”

 

“That’s fucking bullshit. You know that _I know_ that’s bullshit, Moore. Check yesterday’s footage, around 22:00.”

 

Moore’s fingers twitched as he fought against his curiosity and stared at the serial numbers scribbled onto the paper.

 

Curiosity won out.

 

Moore snatched the paper out of Rivali’s hand and pointed a finger in the man’s face. “I’ll look at it. If it takes too long and there’s too much security to get through, then I’m done. If I find any inkling that this is a trap and that someone from I.T. is watching me, then _you’re_ done. You’re going to sit your ass on the couch. These two are going to watch you. And you’re not going to fucking move. Got it? Don’t _fucking_ move because they will not think twice about harming you, and I am _not_ cleaning blood off of Medina’s couch!”

 

Elise grinned as Rivali backpedaled towards the couch. “Oh, Wesley, I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think there’s that much blood loss with castration.”

 

“Especially if we use a _blunt_ object,” Su chimed in, sitting down on the other couch.

 

Walking over to his computer in the kitchen, Moore smiled to himself and quickly acknowledged how pleased he was to have befriended this particular group of girls. Even if Elise drove him crazy most of the time.

 

Fingers flying over his keyboard, he looked up from time to time and watched Rivali, stiffly seated on the edge of the couch, looking between Su and Elise. After a few minutes, Rivali got tired of sitting ramrod straight and sat back. He suddenly winced and pulled a helicopter-looking thing made of Legos from out of the couch cushions behind him. “Still playing with Legos, Moore?” Rivali joked in an attempt to ease his discomfort and break the tense silence.

 

“Uh, no. I wish I had time. I still have a four-thousand-piece Death Star half assembled back at my parents-” Elise shook her head and Moore could tell she was probably rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses and trying her damndest not to tell him that was the fucking reason he was always single: _Star Wars_ Legos among many other geeky things... _Nevermind._ “Uh... anyway. Medina’s fiancé has a kid. The Legos are probably his,” Moore answered.

 

Rivali quietly inspected the toy, probably to distract himself from the girls’ stares as they guarded him. After another few minutes of silence, Rivali glanced up again. “What’s with the sunglasses?” Rivali asked, nodding his head at Elise.

 

Elise smirked. She removed her glasses and threw them onto the coffee table with a clatter, well aware of how jarring her yellow eyes were to people who weren’t used to them. “That better?”

 

Rivali stiffened and leaned further back into the couch. And that shut him up for a while.

 

Moore snickered to himself before glancing back down at his screen. Knowing the specific cameras to locate had saved loads of time. He scrolled through the footage until he found the time Rivali had specified. From this particular camera’s angle, he could see Rivali combing through stacks of files at a table across the room with his back towards the camera. Closer to the camera, he watched as Chief Administrator Adisa left the boiler room and paused to look in Rivali’s direction. Rivali had pretended not to notice the Administrator’s presence and so the man exited toward the stairs.

 

Moore paused the video, trying to get a handle on his racing thoughts, thinking of the worst-case scenarios. Maybe this room housed top-secret information about the Galra. Maybe Adisa was Galra. Maybe he was trying to protect his people by covering up their existence with “pilot errors” and imprisonment camps. Or maybe he was trying to enable the other Galra sect by suppressing the rebelling sect. But he didn’t have the eyes… _There has to be more..._

 

And what did Rivali hope to gain from this? Could he be trusted? Despite the fucked-up things the guy had done, he’d known that Moore was behind the leaked video footage. But he hadn’t tipped Global Securities off about it. He’d even allowed Celine to plant the remote access USB in the high security servers. And he’d supplied copies of the G.I.C. maps. Was he hoping that Moore would just get caught eventually? Or was he waiting for Moore to uncover the truth?

 

Maybe Rivali knew who released Erikson’s health records to the press... Moore stood and walked into the living area. “Who leaked Erikson’s drug tests?”

 

“Senior officers have access to that kind of stuff. They weren’t that hard to locate,” Rivali admitted.

 

 _I knew it._ “Why are you doing this?”

 

“I’m trying to help.”

 

“That’s why I’m a little confused. Because for some reason, you help us, and then you fuck us over. And then you help us. And then you fuck us over! And the last time you fucked us over it was pretty _fucking_ epic, Rivali!” Moore shouted.

 

There was guilt written all over Rivali’s face. “I’m… I’m sorry, Moore. Let me make it right. It’s hard with Global Securities constantly watching me and- Wait. What exactly are you talking about? How do you know?”

 

Moore held out his arms. “How do I know about Erikson? I just know.”

 

“Oh come on, Moore. You’re not fucking God because you can hack into a computer.”

 

“It doesn’t give me omniscience but it _does_ give me access to a wealth of information…” Moore left it vague. He didn’t need to draw Rivali’s attention back to the shack. “What else do you know, Rivali? What’s going to convince me to trust you?”

 

“I’m under an insane amount of pressure at work. But I know that shit’s not right with the Garrison. And between investigating what they'll let me access from the Kerberos mission and me trying to figure out what the fuck is up with the Adisa in my free time... And being followed. And having my place bugged. And… I feel like I’m starting to lose it. But Adisa… I don’t have the proof, but he’s not one of us.”

 

“And by that, you mean one of _us_?” Elise chimed in.

 

“No. I don’t think so. Even Gwansun said that he wasn't one of hers. I can’t figure out-”

 

“You’ve spoken to Gwansun?” Elise questioned in disbelief.

 

“Yeah… I don’t think she likes me much,” Rivali answered.

 

Su grunted. “That surprises me.”

 

Rivali ignored Su’s biting sarcasm and relentless glare. “Moore, can you, I don’t know, like, duplicate Adisa’s key card or something?”

 

“Well, for the boiler room we’d just need clearance for a maintenance worker which isn’t that hard.”

 

“But what about the room beyond the boiler? I’ve tried asking around. None of the maintenance crew have access to that room. They have no idea what it is or what it’s for. In other buildings there’s rooms like this one but they’re for storage or parts or… shit that Adisa wouldn’t ever need to bother himself with.”

 

“Rivali, forging a card with Adisa’s level of access would take… weeks. And I’d need to get some help with that. It’s not my area of expertise and I don’t have the time.”

 

“Moore, I’m waiting to stand down from the mission for this. We need to know how to deal with Adisa when all this goes down. I need to know where to direct the new team so they can investigate this. I can get you into the archives right now. We can take my car, it’s always parked there late at night anyway and Global Securities wouldn’t flag it.”

 

Feeling conflicted, Moore closed his eyes to process his thoughts. He didn’t know if he needed the administrator’s level of access. But he didn’t want to take a chance and show up in enemy territory unprepared. Was Rivali smart enough to turn this into a trap? His story seemed too elaborate, his paranoia too real. “I don’t know…”

 

“Moore, you saw the footage of Adisa. Please trust me.”

 

“So, you’re just doing this because you’re suspicious of Adisa? And maybe you feel guilty?” Moore added.

 

“I do but I just- I want my daughter to be safe. I want this to be a planet worth living on in the future. For her sake.”

 

Moore wasn’t prepared for the genuine look in Rivali’s eyes. It shook him and he hated himself for sympathizing with the enemy. “I’m going to need time. And I need to get other people involved to help me with this sort of job.”

 

Rivali narrowed his eyes. “What else are you working on?”

 

“Other things. I can’t tell you because... I can’t trust you. I’m sure you understand. I’ll contact you if I get anywhere with this.”

 

Rivali looked like that wasn’t a good enough answer, but he reluctantly rose from the couch and grabbed his things. “OK… Just let me know, I guess.”

 

Moore nodded. “I know how to find you.” He was pleased at how that line had also sounded like a threat.

 

Elise walked up to Rivali to hurry him along. “Come on, douchebag. It’s time for you to go.”

 

When Moore finally heard the engine of Rivali’s car driving away, he collapsed onto the couch. “I don’t know what to do...”

 

“Well, I think it’s important to investigate,” Elise said. “This might give us an answer that we’ve been looking for. Outing Adisa could stop this. _All_ of this.”

 

“This might be the Garrison’s weak point,” Su added.

 

“Yeah,” Moore agreed. “We just need to be careful with Rivali. I’ll call my friend in Jersey tomorrow to figure out how we can get Adisa’s access. Let’s get these meds over to the food storage facility.”

 

\-----

 

Erikson ate alone in the dining area. He meditated with Gwansun late at night but during the day, he distanced himself. He didn’t want the guards to be suspicious. And he didn’t want the prisoners to question Gwansun’s loyalty if they noticed her spending time with “the outsider.”

 

As the week passed, Erikson noticed how each meal time gradually became louder as hushed rumors of a rebellion began to spread.

 

He walked up to the guard to return his intact eating utensils for inspection before being permitted to leave the dining area. He glanced at the station next to him where extra napkins and pre-packaged condiments were being stocked by a prisoner that worked in the kitchen. Something different caught his attention.

 

Mixed in among the usual white and pink packets of sweeteners, was a light gray one with a red star.

 

He reached for one and smiled. Inside of the red star were the letters “FTG.” _Fuck the Garrison_ … _They did it._ He flipped the packet over. “Save for when the time is right. Use up to fifty servings daily for best results. These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration.” The entire package had Moore written all over it. Erikson pictured his friend designing the logo on his computer with Zack de la Rocha whispering into his ear:

 

_It has to start somewhere_

_It has to start sometime_

_What better place than here_

_What better time than now._

 

_All hell can’t stop us now!_

_All hell can’t stop us now!_

 

Erikson pocketed a few packets hoping to find Lourdes so that she could start spreading the word. They’d need to begin stockpiling and planning how best to use the explosives. Maybe Lourdes could locate the cases in the kitchen stockroom and hide them so that the guards wouldn’t notice the strange new sugar.

 

On his way back to his bunk, he saw someone else he was looking for.

 

Colleen Holt.

 

She wasn’t wearing a uniform. She was just wearing civilian clothing, standard business casual attire, and carrying a stack of file folders. He had to talk to her.

 

“Mrs. Holt!” he called, running over towards her.

 

Her brow furrowed for only a moment before her face brightened with recognition. “Sergeant! How are you? I’m so happy to see you.”

 

“I’m... good.” _I’m wearing a prison uniform…_

 

“Are you still dating that girl I met at that one party at the Garrison? Oh, what was her name? Morgan! She was so sweet, you two made such a cute couple. You looked happy together.”

 

“Um, no, that was almost four years ago.” _She’s acting strange._ A guard quickly walked over and gave Erikson a threatening look.

 

“How long have you been working here?” Erikson proceeded cautiously.

 

“Oh, it’s been since… Let me think now,” she said, tapping her finger to her chin.

 

The guard prompted her. “Remember? After your husband died? You’re helping the Garrison investigate the crash.”

 

“Oh, right. I’m so happy to be playing my part,” she said as if repeating something that she’d been told over and over again.

 

Erikson racked his brain for something personal that would hopefully jolt her out this… _state_ she was in. “Mrs. Holt, what about your daughter? Her name’s Katie, right?”

 

Colleen cocked her head and looked concerned. The guard shook his head at Erikson. “She’s in school, Mrs. Holt,” the guard prompted again.

 

“Oh, Katie was accepted into the Garrison,” she chirped. “She gets to join Matt, now. She’s so happy. I’m so happy they’re together. We’re all happy.”

 

“That’s… great.” Erikson pretended he wasn’t deeply disturbed. _Shouldn’t the meds be wearing off on her by now?_

 

“Well, I have all these files to organize before I go home. I always work a half-day on Friday. I’m happy to have the extra time to get some work done around the house.”

 

_She leaves the camps… I need to get through to her. Maybe Gwansun will know a way._

 

“Anyway, it’s good to see you, Sergeant. You should come over for dinner sometime. Bring Morgan, too. Katie would love to meet you. She would be so happy. We’re all happy.”

 

Erikson fought a shiver. “OK... I’d love to…”

 

“Good. I’m so happy. We’re all happy.”

 

\-----

 

Every three days was the frequency. Sometimes there wasn’t a message.

 

Today there was.

 

_Sugar needs a spark._

_0600 before shift change = time to strike._

_Wait for stars 3 days before._

_Where is Katie Holt?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading, commenting, kudos’ing  (or just lurking and sending mental kudos.) They are all very very much appreciated.
> 
> Next up... the Garrison’s darkest secret is uncovered.


	17. Patience yields focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone is who they seem to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per usual, the main events are secondary to the dialogue that doesn’t do much for the actual plot. But I guess that’s my style.
> 
> Oh, and fuck you, word counts! This is another long one.
> 
> Shoutout to [GoldenA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenA/pseuds/GoldenA) for inspiring some dialogue concerning a new nickname for Medina. I received some funny messages on Tumblr a while back and I finally found a place to use their idea.

Rivali finished writing another email, outlining the potential timeline for the transition and training of JAXA’s pilot for the Kerberos investigation. As soon as he hit send, the mouse cursor moved as if on its own to open a basic text editor program. He watched as a message was typed into the blank white square.

 

> Can you get access to the his keycard?

 

As soon as the text appeared, it was highlighted and deleted. The I-beam cursor blinked in the upper lefthand corner of the document, waiting for a response.

 

Rivali’s fingers hovered over his keyboard. _Does Moore think that I can just swipe the damn keycard off Adisa’s desk?_

 

> He hardly wears it. But I’ve seen his secretary use it.

 

Rivali deleted the text and waited for Moore to respond.

 

> Perfect.

> A mutual friend will stop by tomorrow with something for you.

 

The text was deleted and the application closed before Rivali could bombard Moore with questions. Initially, he thought that this whole undertaking would have been something Moore could’ve accomplished from behind the scenes rather than sending Rivali out and doing the risky dirty work. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought it would be. But Rivali buried his apprehension. He had to see this through.

 

He always finished what he started.

 

\-----

 

Jules’ phone rang as he locked up the Blue Door one evening. “Wesley? Is everything OK?”

 

“Yeah, everything's fine. You holding up?”

 

“I guess. Have you heard anything more?”

 

“We’ve gotten two messages. They’re still safe.”

 

Jules breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

 

“Yeah. So, quick question. How’s your dissertation going?”

 

“Ugh, it’s not. I can’t focus.”

 

“Yeah, I can only imagine. I have something I could use some help with. I haven’t had time to look into it, but Jesper seemed concerned about it and I know you’re good at researching things.”

 

“What do you need?”

 

“I need you to look into a girl named Katie Holt. She’s the Kerberos Mission commander’s daughter. Based on Jesper’s message, it sounds like she’s missing, but it’s weird because you’d think the news would be all over a missing fourteen-year-old girl. Depending on what you uncover, I might need you to come back to Arizona. I don’t want to stake out the house just yet since I know that Global Securities is monitoring certain people.”

 

“Sure, I’ll let you know what I find.”

 

“Thanks, Jules.”

 

\-----

 

Rivali wasn’t sure who the mutual “friend” was supposed to be, but he wasn’t surprised when he spotted a Yankees hat out of the corner of his eye the next day. “I think you’re violating the uniform policy,” Rivali said, turning to find Medina standing in the doorway of his office. He was holding a narrow shipping box.

 

“I’m just getting back from lunch,” Medina responded, approaching the desk and rudely tossing his hat onto Rivali’s desk. He slid a laptop out of the box and quickly glanced over his shoulder at the security camera positioned just outside the office. “My friend said the water damage was pretty bad but he was able to fix your computer for the most part. The space bar is still a little finicky.” Medina opened the laptop, angling it away from the security camera.

 

Rivali’s eyes fixated on a transparent thin square positioned over the laptop’s touchpad.

 

Medina continued. “If you have any more trouble with the operating system, then you’ll have to do a manual reboot. He said to call him and he’ll walk you through it.” Medina closed the laptop and lifted it up to reveal a prepaid phone secured to the underside.

 

 _What the-_ Rivali continued to stare at the laptop until Medina cleared his throat. _Your turn to pretend._ “Oh, um. Thanks for bringing this by and saving me the trip. I’ll call him later.”

 

“No problem, ravioli.” Medina stared Rivali down for a tense moment before leaving.

 

Rivali shoved the laptop in his gym bag and waited a few minutes before leaving the building to call Moore on the provided cell phone. On his way to the rec center, he poked around on the antiquated phone to look for a number. There were no contacts or text messages. The recent activity, however, showed a single outgoing call. He assumed that was the phone number he needed.

 

“You got the computer?” Moore asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The apparatus on the touchpad can be removed and easily installed on your computer. It’ll read any near field communications keycard that’s scanned and my friend has a guy that will hopefully be able to replicate the card.”

 

“OK… but if it gets out that there’s been a breach of security with his info… there’s only so many people that it could be. This could get back to me.”

 

“Then you better have a convincing story when you ask the secretary to scan the card. Hang on to this phone in case I need to reach you again.” And then the call ended.

 

_This is getting complicated._

 

Rivali turned to head back into the aviation building and spotted Medina standing at the back entrance with his arms crossed. Global Securities breathing down his neck was already getting old. And now Moore’s pitbull was watching him more closely as well.

 

\-----

 

Late the next afternoon, Rivali tested his card against the installed card reader on his laptop for a third time before taking the stairs to the sixth floor. These days, there were emergency meetings all the time, so it didn’t take long for Sergeant Harper to find a time when Adisa would be tied up in a meeting with his chiefs of staff.

 

Rivali knocked on the open door and Adisa’s secretary waved Rivali in. “Oh, Commander! Come in!”

 

Rivali pretended to be a little frazzled. “He’s in another meeting isn’t he?”

 

“Yeah, why, is there a problem?”

 

“I’m waiting for him to sign off on the monthly briefing. Harper needs to get it to the Department of Defense in the next hour.”

 

“Oh. I thought he signed off on that yesterday morning?”

 

“He did… I had to revise a few small things and the stupid system requires that he sign off again.”

 

The secretary stood and peered into Adisa’s office. He opened a drawer and pulled out an ID card but paused when he looked at the desk. “He took his laptop into the meeting. I’ll have to log off my computer and-”

 

“Oh, you can just do it from mine,” Rivali offered, opening the laptop. “I don’t want you to have to close out of all of your stuff. I know you’re incredibly busy.” Rivali cringed at his uncharacteristic ass-kissing, especially since he knew the guy was probably just killing time on social media while Adisa was away.

 

“Yeah… I do have all kinds of things open. Lots of folders and spreadsheets and... you know,” the secretary said, gesturing at his desktop monitor before accepting the laptop. Rivali held his breath, watching as the card was tapped to the touchpad to log in with Adisa’s credentials. “OK… What’s wrong with... Oh, there it goes. I see the notification in his worklist. You discussed the changes with him?”

 

“Yes. Mostly just changes in wording per Harper’s recommendations.”

 

The secretary tapped the ID card one more time to sign off on the change, logged off, and then handed the laptop back over. “Well, you’re all set, then.”

 

Rivali finally remembered to breathe. “Harper won’t kill me after all. Thank you so much.” _I can’t believe that worked._

 

\-----

 

_Thunk._

 

“Su? You coming with?” Celine called from the back door.

 

“Yep.”

 

_Thunk._

 

The rhythmic sound of Su practicing throwing her shuriken against a piece of plywood in the backyard had become a regular sound around Medina’s house. So regular that Celine, Moore, and Medina had joked about using the sound as a kitchen timer. Sixteen shuriken plus the pause it took to collect the throwing stars and bacon would be done in the microwave. Two full rounds of shuriken practice and dinner could be reheated. Nine full rounds of shuriken practice and a pot of white rice would be finished.

 

_Thunk._

 

Su threw her last star and walked towards Celine so that they could go to their hoverbike operation and riding skills training course that Woolf had signed them up for. Celine was definitely going to be sending a bored selfie to her boyfriend today, but at least they’d have their licenses by the end of next week.

 

\-----

 

Erikson glanced over his shoulder and watched Colleen Holt happily wave in his direction as the guards escorted her off the premises at the end of her workday. He’d tried bringing up her family again only to get the same reaction. A recited answer and a blank expression.

 

“How do I get through to her? I mean, brainwashing isn’t actually a thing, is it?” He threw a triangle into Lourdes’ pile.

 

Lourdes shook her head. “Why else would they let her leave the camps like all the other officers?”

 

“They wouldn’t if they thought she posed any sort of a threat.”

 

“Exactly. When we get out of here, then we can see what Wesley has found and go from there. You can’t worry about her right now.” Lourdes tossed another triangle towards the pile as the lights in the camp began to dim.

 

“Do you think Moore can actually get matches in here without the guards finding them? And even then, we can’t just throw a match at a pile of explosives and run away.”

 

“I think we can make wicks out of the sheets,” Lourdes whispered. “And I can get a flame from the pilot light in the kitchen if we don’t get matches in time. But matches would be easier and more discreet.”

 

“How many exits did you guys decide to blow up?”

 

“Three. Plus one explosion in the kitchen as an initial diversion.”

 

“And how are we doing this in the dark? Making torches would be too noticeable for the night guards.”

 

Lourdes grinned. “The Galra see very well in the dark. We won’t need light.”

 

“Interesting...” Erikson then snorted. “You’re going to need to hold my hand the whole time.”

 

“You’ll be fine. The fire in the kitchen will give you some light as well.”

 

“How many people are behind us right now?”

 

“I’d say the camps are fifty-fifty. I think some people are afraid of returning to normal life. If the plan works, then hundreds of people emerging from the desert will obviously attract the press. The Garrison won’t be able to hide for much longer but… neither will we. When this is all done and over with, everyone will know what we are.”

 

“Are you ready?” Erikson heard Gwansun’s voice from behind.

 

“Yeah.” He added his last contribution to the triangles before standing.

 

Lourdes smirked. “Are you ever going to let me kick his ass?”

 

Gwansun chuckled. “I guess I could use a break... And you shouldn’t get comfortable fighting just one person. What do you say, Jesper?”

 

Erikson glanced down at Lourdes’ devilish grin. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” he groaned.

 

\-----

 

Moore stared at the keycard on the table. His heart was pounding and they hadn’t even left the house yet.

 

“Moore, you ready?” Medina asked, pulling on a dark hoodie.

 

“Yeah…” Moore threw the card into his pack along with his laptop.

 

_Thunk._

 

Su was practicing in the dark again. _How the hell does she see?_

 

_Thunk._

 

Elise came down the stairs just before Moore and Medina walked out of the front door. “Guys?”

 

“What? Do I need to show you how to work the damn TV again before I go?” Medina complained.

 

“No, it’s not that,” Elise started. “Wesley, have you thought about what you might find? If there’s actually Galra tech behind that door, you’re going to need someone that can access it.”

 

“Elise, you couldn’t even do anything about the cellar door at Keith’s shack.”

 

“Wesley, there have been more pressing issues. And I didn’t get a chance to even see it! I do have a shortlist of possible codes, though. We just haven’t gone back to see if any of them work. I’ve had to memorize all the possible access codes to the Blade of Marmora’s ships and computers. And every year I have to learn all the new possible codes for Zarkon’s fleet in order to be prepared for the day they finally come to this planet. Like, do you know how many fucking ships and robotic sentries that guy has?”

 

“Wait… if we actually find alien technology, are you saying that you’d be able to interact with it?”

 

“Well, I’ve never had to but… In theory, yes. That’s part of my training. I have hundreds of access codes memorized. I should come with you.”

 

 _Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t she say something sooner?_ “Elise, are you absolutely positive that you want to come? Four people is going to be too many.”

 

“I don’t _want_ to come. But it’s pointless for me to stay behind if you’re going to encounter Galra tech. What are you going to do with it? Take a picture and send it to the press?”

 

“Well, the incoming team would investigate and…” Moore sighed. She was right. No one would get anywhere without a Galra Knowledge Holder. “OK then… Medina, you’ll have to stay back.”

 

Unsure, Medina looked between Elise and Moore. “If that’s how you want it, man. I’ll still drive you guys over.”

 

\-----

 

Medina idled in the almost empty parking lot. Rivali stood alone, smoking a cigarette. “Moore… If shit seems suspicious, just follow your gut instinct, OK?” He handed over his Garrison-issued gun.

 

Moore shook his head. “I don’t need-”

 

“Take it. If I’m not going, then you’re taking this.”

 

Moore hesitantly accepted the weapon. He’d always hated carrying a weapon at the Garrison. He’d never had the confidence to make such a decision in the blink of an eye, to end someone’s life and live with the repercussions... “OK…”

 

The trio emerged from the car and approached Rivali. “I thought you said there were three of us,” Rivali said, exhaling a cloud of smoke and warily eyeing Elise.

 

“There will be. There’s just been a change of plans. You remember Elise, right? She might have some… information that could be of use. So Medina is hanging back.”

 

Rivali was obviously contemplating which person was worse to be around: Elise or Medina. Finally, he gave up and shrugged. “Fine, whatever. My car’s parked around the building.”

 

“Uh... momentito,” Medina spoke up, grabbing Rivali by the arm and guiding him away from Moore and Elise.

 

 _Oh great, here we go…_ Moore rolled his eyes but strained to listen to Medina’s peptalk.

 

“OK, listen up,” Medina hissed at Rivali. “I don’t believe in heaven and hell, and saints and demons, and shit like that. But I know your Catholic ass does. So let me spell this out for you. Tonight, you’re going to prove me wrong. Either you’re going to prove to me that you’re not the worthless piece of shit I think you are, or you’re going to prove that there is a hell that I can send you to because if you stab them in the back, I will hunt you down! Capisce? Did I conjugate that correctly?”

 

“Um… it’s capisci but… whatever. I- I got it,” Rivali stuttered.

 

“Good. My fiancée wants to go to fucking Italy for our honeymoon. Of all the fucking places. I’m trying my damndest to talk her out of it. But in the meantime, I’m trying to brush up on what I know. Thanks.”

 

“Uh, yeah...”

 

Medina turned and walked back towards his truck while Moore gave Rivali the rundown. “OK, so my buddy, Raj, will be on the line the whole time and will be able to hear everything. He’ll VPN into my computer and will be monitoring the traffic within the Garrison’s control network, deleting failed attempts to get into doors and other anomalies before they’re added to the access log that would notify I.T. He’ll be helping me jam the security cameras as we make our way towards the archives.” And his virtual presence would be an added security measure; he’d be able to call for help if things turned sour.

 

Moore watched Medina’s truck back out of of the desolate parking lot and then looked to Elise to muster a look of reassurance. She was probably even more nervous than he was. But Elise was looking up at the sky. She slowly removed her sunglasses and her mouth fell open at the sight of the brilliant stars unhindered by the usual city light pollution she was used to. “I’ve never seen stars like this.”

 

“Elise, you’ve been here for a while, now. You never looked up?” Moore questioned.

 

“Um, we’ve been busy. And I hardly go outside.”

 

Rivali snorted. “What, are you a fucking vampire, too?”

 

“Vampires go outside at night, idiot,” Elise countered.

 

Rivali just shook his head and turned to walk towards his car. Moore followed while Elise lagged behind, still looking up. “Do you guys know the constellations? You fly planes but do you have to do, like, ‘space’ and shit?”

 

Moore chuckled. “We have been known to ‘space.’”

 

“I’m a Scorpio! Where’s my constellation? I’ve never seen it.”

 

Without looking, Rivali gestured over his shoulder towards the southeast. “It’s behind you, very close to the horizon.”

 

“That doesn’t help, there’s a million stars behind me.”

 

Moore stopped and traced the scorpion’s tail for Elise. “Do you see it?”

 

“That’s it? The Romans must’ve been on some good shit. How the hell did they think that looked like a scorpion? Where’s your’s Wesley?”

 

“Oh, I’m Aquarius. There.” Moore pointed west.

 

“Ooh, Aquarius, huh? Why didn’t you tell me?” Elise joked, nudging Moore’s shoulder.

 

“Um…I, ah...” Moore uncomfortably rubbed his shoulder. _I don’t know how to deal with this._

 

“I’m joking, we’re not compatible whatsoever. What about you, Lexi? Where’s your sign?”

 

Rivali flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground. “Don’t call me that. It’s not in the sky this time of year.”

 

“What are you?”

 

“Gemini.”

 

“Hmm… Two-faced, huh?”

 

Rivali rolled his eyes impatiently, clearly anxious to get going. “That’s what they say, if you believe in that fucking shit. Are we going or no? How about we leave you here and you can tell us our horoscopes when we get back.”

 

“Relax, Tony.”

 

“Why the fuck are you calling me all these different names?”

 

“Italians are all named Joey, Paulie, Vinny, or Tony. Take your pick. I thought Lexi was a cute alternative but clearly you’re not a fan.”

 

Rivali just ignored Elise and started walking again, grumbling under his breath. Moore tried wiping his grin off his face. He was jittery about tonight, but at least there was the promise of some amusing entertainment.

 

As they walked up to the car, Rivali’s cell began ringing. He swiped to dismiss the call, pocketed the phone, and opened the car door. When his cell began ringing a second time, he threw his head back and groaned.

 

“You gonna answer that, Paulie?” Elise asked.

 

Rivali heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Give me a second. She’ll keep calling until I pick up.” He pulled his phone out from his back pocket and answered it. “Hi Nonna. It’s late, everything OK?”

 

Elise snickered. “Aw…”

 

Rivali shushed Elise as he listened to his grandmother ramble on the phone. “Yeah…. OK… No. This is Alexander… This isn’t Anthony. You called Alex… Yep, I’m sure…. This is Alex…I don’t think that’s- That sounds like a squirrel, Nonna. I don’t think it’s the neighbor’s dog.”

 

Moore and Elise giggled as Rivali pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s a squirrel, Nonna. Don’t worry about it…. OK…. The thermostat? I fixed it last time I was out there… I left that piece of paper next to it with instructions…. Well, what number does it say? Eighty-five?!  Nonna, you didn’t need to touch it after I set it last time. Change it back to seventy- Just, have Anthony look at it tomorrow…. OK, love you too… OK, that’s a squirrel, Nonna. Remember? I just told you... No, this is Alex.” Exasperated, Rivali held the phone away and growled with frustration before he hurried his grandmother off the phone. He looked at Moore’s and Elise’s shit-eating grins as he ended the call and yanked the driver’s seat forward. “Not a fucking word out of you two. Get in the damn car.”

 

Moore climbed in after Elise, figuring she’d more comfortable if she wasn’t by herself in the backseat, but it was a tight squeeze. “This is the smallest backseat ever,” Elise complained. “Why did they even bother?”

 

Moore took in the sleek interior of the sportscar as Rivali got in. “You don’t see too many manual transmissions these days,” he observed as Rivali started the car.

 

Rivali looked back with a smile and revved the engine. “The automatic is actually a little faster than the stick but… You know I’m a control freak.”

 

_This is true…_

 

“So, I’m thinking that I’ll pull right up to the back door, under the awning so you guys can get out and stand in the shadow there. If anyone’s in the parking lot, I’ll get out and fumble with some documents I’ve got in the trunk as a distraction. They changed some of the card scanners to fingerprint recognition so I can’t just give you my ID card.”

 

Moore’s heart rate started picking up. No more distractions. This was happening. “Yeah, OK.” He powered up his mobile hotspot and then dialed Raj as they peeled out of the empty parking lot and towards the Galaxy Garrison. “Raj? Can you hear me OK?”

 

Raj’s slight Indian accent echoed from Moore’s earbuds. “Crystal clear, Wes.”

 

——

 

Rivali scanned his card at the back entrance. Moore thought he had the floorplans memorized along with the security camera locations and angles but he double checked his wrinkled copy of the floorplan before getting out of the car. Just in case. _Better safe than sorry._ Moore was going to hack each camera they approached and either pause the recording or take if offline so that there would be no evidence of their presence tonight. It was just going to be a slow process. He couldn’t take all of the cameras offline at once. Someone would notice.

 

They enetered and then ducked around the first corner. Moore sat on the floor and got to work while Rivali and Elise waited. “Raj, do you see many people on the network right now?”

 

“Not many. Most have been idle. You should be good.”

 

Elise pulled out her phone as a distraction. Moore had noticed that she’d grown more and more tense as they’d neared the Garrison. “Wesley, the guy I messaged yesterday responded.”

 

 _Oh my god, not the stupid dating app._ “That’s nice,” Moore responded indifferently while he waited for override access to the first two cameras.

 

“He’s cute, right?” She held her phone out for Moore’s opinion.

 

“Seriously, Elise?” Moore looked over his shoulder and squinted at the profile picture she was showing him. “I- I don’t know, he’s OK, I guess. I don’t really know, I’m bad at that stuff.”

 

“Oh, Wesley. You’re not so straight that you can’t tell if a guy is cute or not.”

 

“Elise, I kinda need to concentrate right now.”

 

“Fine. What do you think, Lexi?”

 

Rivali ignored her until she held the phone two inches away from his face. He snatched the phone out of her hands and studied the picture. “He’s fuckable, but broke,” was his official ruling.

 

“What? How do you know if he’s broke?”

 

“It says he’s a writer.”

 

“Well, he might be successful. Plus, that’s good, he’s all creative and romantic and shit.”

 

“That’s fine, he just can’t afford shit. You’ll bankrupt the poor guy in two dates.”

 

Elise quietly studied the writer’s profile for a while. “Ugh, you’re a fucking buzzkill. You’re worse than Su. What about this one?”

 

Rivali looked at the photo of the twenty-something hospitality entrepreneur. “He’s a little young for you, no?”

 

“Like that stopped you,” Elise shot back, voice dripping with contempt.

 

“OK, you know what? I regret what I did and I have to live with it every fucking day. But I don't need you reminding me as well. I’d take it back if I could,” Rivali defended himself.

 

“But the damage is done...”

 

Moore watched the seconds pause on the time stamp in the corner of the security camera feed. “OK, let’s move to the next checkpoint,” he interrupted, hoping the argument wouldn’t escalate. The trio moved down the hallway and crouched behind the next corner while Moore unpaused the first set of cameras and worked on taking down the next set for their safe passage.

 

“Do pilots make a lot of money? This guy is a pilot for a regional commercial airline.” Elise presented another potential dating site suitor while they waited again.

 

Moore looked back at Rivali. They traded knowing expressions, trying not to laugh. Rivali scoffed. “A _regional_ pilot?”

 

“What’s wrong with that?”

 

Moore and Rivali snickered. “Nothing…” There was an unspoken hierarchy of pilots. And those that flew little air buses from DC to Boston were at the bottom of that hierarchy.

 

“Oh my god, you boys are so judgy. So he doesn’t fly to Mars and shit, like, big fucking deal.”

 

“He doesn’t even fly internationally. That’s pretty lame,” Rivali commented, looking at the picture. “He looks like an alcoholic, too.”

 

“OK, well, this activity is over. Thanks for nothing.”

 

“I have a question,” Rivali started.

 

“Well, I have nothing else to do, so… What?” Elise folded her arms.

 

“If you’re going on all these dates, how do you explain your eyes? Do they ever ask? Or do you just wear sunglasses all the time?”

 

“I have a sound story.”

 

“Well, I’m assuming it’s not, hey, guess what, I’m two-percent alien,” Rivali prodded.

 

Elise hesitated at first. “OK, so both my parents worked for Doctors Without Borders. They had a side project of their own where they were trying to figure out the concentration of Galra genetics in Central Africa. My story is that they took me on their trips even though they just worked desk jobs in the city once I was born. I tell people that I have an enlarged liver because I had malaria as a child and that the specific strain I have causes random relapses and jaundice.”

 

Moore’s head whipped around in shock. “Elise!” he scolded. “That’s not something to joke about!”

 

Rivali’s mouth had fallen open. “Wow. I’ve met some really fucked-up women, but you win the prize.”

“OK, well I think I can make the case that you’re way more fucked up than I am. And you don’t know what it’s like dating in a big city. Everyone’s jaded and messed up in their own way. And I can’t be resigned to a life of celibacy because of the cards my genetics dealt me. Fuck both of you. But fuck you more, Lexi.”

 

Rivali just laughed to himself while Moore watched the next cameras come offline. “OK, let’s move. And let’s keep it quiet.”

 

Rivali scanned his fingerprints and ID at the next entry point and they entered the stairwell that led to the basement. Moore didn’t want to stick around for too long in the stairwell since there was a higher likelihood of foot traffic. But Raj spoke up before Moore could locate the next cameras. “Hey Wes? I tried working ahead on the next set of cameras but there’s someone in the basement archives. You need to sit tight for now.”

 

“Oh, damn. OK, let me know if they come this way, we might need to backtrack into the hallway.”

 

“Well, you’re safe for now. I’m looking at the other cameras near that stairwell. No one’s around.”

 

“OK, thanks, Raj. Good looking out.” Moore looked back at Elise and Rivali. “We need to sit tight. Raj says there’s someone in the archives right now. Rivali, if this takes a while, we might need you to go down there and see how long they plan on being there. If they’re burning the midnight oil, we’ll have to try another night.”

 

“Goddammit,” Rivali grumbled.

 

“We’ll give them ten minutes. Raj and I are keeping an eye on the other cameras. We're in a safe spot to wait for now.”

 

Elise sat on the floor and anxiously dug through her bag. “Oh, fuck. We should’ve stopped and picked up cigarettes on our way.”

 

“Elise, you’ll survive. And cigarette smoke will draw attention,” Moore argued.

 

“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, Wesley. I need this right now, OK? Maybe one fell out...” Elise said as she continued her search. She quietly celebrated when she recovered a bent cigarette from the depths of her handbag. She flicked off some lint, unwrapped one of her own hairs that was twisted around it, and then raised it to her lips.

 

Seated on the linoleum floor next to Eliise, Rivali cringed and swiped the contaminated cigarette out of her hands. “Ew, don’t put that in your mouth. What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Look who’s talking...”

 

“Oh my god, drop it!” Rivali growled, pulling out an e-cigarette and offering it to Elise.

 

“Thanks,” Elise mumbled reluctantly. Moore watched her eyes fixate on the battle scar on the back of Rivali’s hand. “What’s that from?”

 

“A stupid fight when I was seventeen. I punched through a glass door.”

 

“That was smart.”

 

Moore tried to not laugh and wished Medina had been able to come on this little mission. He would’ve enjoyed watching his nemeses bickering. _That reminds me…_ “Elise, do you see any scars on his nose? You should ask him for that story.”

 

Rivali looked like he would’ve punched Moore had they been in any other situation. Elise squinted and scruitzined over every detail of Rivali’s face. “I don’t see anything, why? His nose might be a little off-center, though. Who’d you piss off, Lexi?”

 

“Fuck off.” Rivali leaned away and looked to the side.

 

“It’s from Diego,” Moore revealed with a grin.

 

Elise’s eyes went wide. “Ooh, this sounds like a good story! You got in a little scuffle with Diego?”

 

“Who the hell is Diego?” Rivali questioned.

 

“What’s his real name, Wesley? I can’t remember.”

 

“Medina.”

 

“No, his first name,” Elise clarified.

 

“Danilo.”

 

Elise wrinkled her nose. “Really? That’s a weird name. Kinda sounds like dildo.”

 

Rivali snorted. “You should tell him that some time. I wish I’d thought of that one. Danildo.”

 

“Danildo! Oh my god, that’s genius!” Elise exclaimed. “I can’t wait to tell him!”

 

“Shhh,” Moore laughed. “Keep it down. And I recommend that you never _ever_ call him that.”

 

“What about that scar?” Rivali asked, pointing to a discolored line on Elise’s ankle.

 

“Ugh, long story.”

 

“I hope it’s embarrassing. We’ve got a few minutes to kill,” Rivali teased, getting comfortable and leaning against the wall. “Let me guess. You were wasted, wearing ridiculous heels you could barely walk in, and fell down the stairs.”

 

“No, that would’ve been way simpler. It's all the bodega cat's fault.”

 

“What the hell’s a bodega cat?”

 

Moore giggled. “It’s kind of like the cheshire cat, but it only appears in seedy corner stores in New York City.”

 

“Yeah, usually in the back, next to the ATM and craft beer selection,” Elise chimed in.

 

“And across from the deli counter and rack of chicharrones,” Moore added.

 

“Ugh, Wesley, I can’t believe you ate those.”

 

Rivali raised an eyebrow. “So… it’s a convenience store.”

 

“No, it’s a bodega,” Elise stated.

 

Moore confirmed with a nod. “It’s a bodega.”

 

“OK, fine. And they have a cat there? Isn’t that a health code violation or something?” Rivali asked.

 

“Eh… probably. Never really thought about it. The mice and roaches are a bigger problem than having a cat,” Moore reasoned.

 

“Yeah those roaches are fast. They’ll make off with small children if you’re not watching,” Elise joked.

 

Moore and Elise snickered, but Rivali was still confused. “OK, this still doesn’t explain why you have a scar. You tripped over the deli cat?”

 

“Bodega cat,” Elise corrected. “So, I was having a bit of a mouse problem and my stupid ex-boyfriend refused to come over and help me. The mice were too smart for the snap traps. And no one tells you that the glue traps catch them but then you’ve just got this live mouse hanging out until it dies. I caught one with a glue trap and had to just toss it out the window and was traumatized.”

 

“Did it land on anyone?!” Rivali asked.

 

“I don’t know. No one shouted or anything. Anyway, I was trying to lure the bodega cat upstairs to my apartment to catch another mouse and-“

 

“Wait. Wait. You _stole_ the cat?!” Rivali barked a laugh.

 

“No, I was borrowing it. I mean, I didn’t ask the owner because he would’ve said no, but- It was going to be a temporary arrangement. I’m allergic anyway.”

 

Rivali kept laughing. “You are _so_ fucked up!”

 

Moore secretly agreed.

 

“We’ve been through this before, you’re way more fucked up than I am,” Elise argued. “I have immunity when you’re present.”

 

“The cat didn’t try running away?” Moore asked in disbelief.

 

“Well, it squirmed a lot. But once I got it in into my building, I tried luring it up the stairs with food. But I don’t know what happened, it got spooked by something and ran back down the stairs and I tripped over it and fell.”

 

“That’s a hell of an adventure, Elise,” Moore commented, watching Rivali with amusement as he curled over his legs, laughing at the ridiculous story. He’d actually never seen Rivali laugh like this. “Uh, Elise, I think you broke Rivali.”

 

“Well, ask and you shall be entertained by the stupid things that happen to me.” She held the e-cigarette at a distance and looked like she was pondering its design. “No one else has an embarrassing story they’d like to share?”

 

“Uh, not really. I think I’m just in a constant state of embarrassment,” Moore replied as Rivali finally recovered and wiped his eyes.

 

“Aw, Wesley. You just need to know when to leave out the Star Wars and stuff. But girls like nerds. Well, we want to cuddle with nerds. We still want it rough sometimes, that's why girls always go for the bad boys-”

 

Moore cleared his throat and uncomfortably looked away from Rivali. He thanked Elise for her unsolicited and overly-detailed input and then nervously tapped his fingers on his knees. “Hey, Raj? What’s happening? Do I need to send Rivali?”

 

Raj’s voice came through the earbuds. “Uh, I think they might be collecting their things… Yep, they’re definitely leaving. You should be good to move in a minute or two.”

 

“Thanks. OK, guys, let’s get ready.”

 

Moments after the Garrison employee left, Moore, Elise, and Rivali entered the basement from the emergency stairwell. Rivali scanned them into archives and the team beelined for the boiler room.  

 

Moore tapped a forged maintenance card to the sensor. The small team stepped inside the boiler room and approached the door in question. Moore dug the card with Adisa’s access out of his backpack. Taking a deep breath, he anxiously looked back at Elise and Rivali. He tapped the keycard and watched the indicator light turn green. _This is it…_

 

The three were bathed in purple light upon entering the small room. Moore began to panic as he looked at all of the foreign equipment and strange purple characters flashing on the screen mounted to the wall. “Uh… what is this? Elise, what is this? What am I looking at?”

 

“Wes?! What is it?” Raj asked excitedly.

 

Elise walked up to the large screen and ran her hand over the glowing buttons. “This is definitely Galra…” She glanced over her shoulder at Rivali. “You were right.”

 

“I wish I wasn’t,” he responded, also in shock.

 

“Elise, is this their language?” Moore gestured towards the curving characters flashing, ignoring Raj’s excited babbling. “Are you able to translate this?”

 

“Yeah, it’ll take a little while. It’s not like I get to practice this shit that often,” she responded. “OK, so this first screen is just asking for the access code and says that three incorrect attempts will result in self-destruction of the equipment and anything in a… well, the equivalent of a ten-meter radius.”

 

“So... do we get three attempts and a _fourth_ will cause explosions or do we get two and the _third_ will cause explosions?” Moore asked, hoping for clarification.

 

“I read you the literal translation, Wesley. I don’t think Zarkon’s general or whoever chose this wording was super concerned about semantics.”

 

“OK… well, we’re going to stay on the safe side and attempt twice. OK? Elise, you have two tries.”

 

“No fucking pressure,” Elise muttered as Moore backed away to give her space. She stared at the screen and then spoke. “I think I’ve got it.”

 

“Wait, did someone important give you the password? How do you know this shit?” Rivali questioned.

 

Elise looked over her shoulder again. “I’m a Knowledge Holder.”

 

Rivali stilled. “You’re a Knowledge Holder? That’s a real thing?”

 

“Yeah, you’ve never gotten your hands on one of us, huh?” Moore watched Rivali’s face as Elise taunted him. His eyes were wide, mind clearly racing. Capturing someone like Elise would give the Garrison the definitive upper hand in their mission to imprison all people with Galra lineage.

 

“Rivali…” Moore warned. “We cool?”

 

“Yeah,” Rivali replied tersely. He then crossed his arms and started pacing.

 

“Here goes nothing.” Elise removed her sunglasses and then tapped a few insignias on the touchscreen before placing her hand on the scanner. The screen responded with an access-denied sounding beep and a few red characters briefly flashed. “Fuck! Fuck you, Zarkon!” She pounded the screen with her fist and then collapsed onto the floor, seething. “Ugh! What if I can’t do this, Wesley?”

 

“It’s… It’s OK. Just calm down. You can do it,” he responded weakly, trying not to sound disappointed.

 

“That was convincing, Moore,” Rivali criticized as he continued to pace.

 

Elise’s eyes began to tear up. “There’s, like, seven possible codes that I know of. We’ve gotten this far and what if I fuck it up?”

 

 _Oh, no… no crying._ Moore got down on his knees. “Don’t cry, Elise. It’s OK. We can come back again if it doesn’t work. It’ll be all right.” He leaned forward and held her in an awkward embrace. Or at least it felt awkward for Moore.

 

“I hate this. I hate this fucking burden,” Elise sobbed into Moore’s shoulder. “Ever since I was kid I’ve had this shit shoved down my throat. All for the slim chance that I’d be the one to make a difference on this planet. And here I fucking am. And I can’t do it.”

 

Moore tried to not squirm at the feeling of his wet tee sticking to his arm. ‘Maybe you just… need to meditate on it or something.”

 

“A drink and a fucking cigarette is what I need!” She released Moore and ran her hands up and down her bare arms. “And a jacket. It’s cold in here,” she quietly sniffled.

 

“I didn’t bring a fleece or anything,” Moore murmured.  He had a terrible feeling that they’d be leaving empty-handed tonight. After all this work. And repeating this exercise one or two more times would eventually get them caught.

 

Rivali knelt down beside them, took his leather jacket off, and draped it over Elise’s shoulder’s. “I’m supposed to be quitting but…” He then pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the jacket pocket, popping one between his lips and offering one to Elise.

 

“You… you can’t smoke in here!” Moore sputtered.

 

“Relax, Moore. It’s not like there’s a gas leak in the boiler room,” Rivali said, lighting Elise’s cigarette. “Let her think.”

 

“Ugh, it already stinks in here,” Moore complained as he stood up and walked away from the smoke.

 

“Then go wait in the other room!” Rivali snapped.

 

“Like hell I am. Just because you’ve gotten us this far doesn’t mean I trust you.” Moore leaned against the wall in the corner and watched Rivali like a hawk while Elise took long, slow drags and calmed down.

 

Moore wished he had something to help Elise. What wisdom could he possibly offer to someone whose culture he barely understood? Whose problems he would never know firsthand? _Shiro..._ “At the Garrison, we had to train for all these disaster scenarios and take classes like Emergency and Recovery. And you run all these super stressful simulations with the idea that, when the time comes, the emergency procedures will be so ingrained in your memory that it’ll be one less thing to think about.

 

“But stressful situations makes our brains react differently. We panic because we might make the wrong knee-jerk reaction. We might die or let others down and put their lives on the line. And we don’t have enough time to think straight in that kind of a situation. It’s something I’m absolutely terrible about. I’ve gotten pulled off of missions because of it. I just get flustered and freeze up.

 

“But you know what Shiro said to me one time? It always stuck with me, and even though I didn’t get another assignment after getting pulled from the Mars Lab mission, it’s helped with other things in life. All the answers we need lie within. But if we don’t calm down and listen to ourselves, then we won’t find them. Patience yields focus.”

 

Rivali looked up at Moore. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

 

“That was one of Shiro’s favorite mantras.”

 

“I remember,” Rivali reflected quietly.

 

“Elise, are there any passcodes that would pertain specifically to Earth? Or this Galaxy? I’m just throwing ideas out here right now, I wish I knew how else to help you,” Moore said.

 

“Gwansun said she’d had run-ins with Adisa before. Did she ever mention anything about him that would help?” Rivali offered.

 

“I don’t know… It’s just going to take a while to-”

 

Rivali pulled out his phone and showed Elise the time. It was midnight. “Like Moore said, in shitty situations you don’t have time to think. But right now? We have all night. Take your time, Elise.”

 

Elise’s eyes darted side to side as she thought. Gradually, her face brightened. “OK, I might be onto something. I need to meditate. Boys, keep your bickering to a minimum.” She handed Rivali her half-smoked cigarette, straightened her back, closed her eyes, and bowed her head slightly. Rivali looked surprised at her abrupt silence and looked at Moore with a raised eyebrow.

 

Moore shrugged. That was just something Elise did.

 

They waited a long, silent thirty minutes while Elise sat and meditated. Rivali fidgeted with his lighter, rolling it along his knuckles while he waited. Raj remained on the line, but thankfully stayed quiet. Moore didn’t know what to do with himself. He was so used to being frantically busy lately. There wasn’t much to look at in the room other than the large screen and strange controls, all glowing purple. He shivered whenever he stared at them too long. There was something about the purple light that chilled his blood.

 

Finally, Elise’s eyes fluttered open. “I’ve got it.”

 

Moore’s heart pounded as she stood and approached the controls again. “Just remember, we can always try again later,” he reminded her.

 

Elise’s second attempt was filled with more purposeful movements. She entered ten characters onto the screen and then closed her eyes. “It wasn’t the passcode. It was me.” When she opened her eyes again, they shone ever so slightly with yellow light. “Gwansun always told me that I keep my energy trapped. I’m always suppressing it.” She placed her hand on the scanner in the center of the screen. This time, the screen responded with red light that transitioned to a new menu of characters.

 

“Ah! It worked!” Elise jumped up and down.

 

Without second-guessing himself like he usually did, Moore threw his arms around Elise. “You did it!” She hugged him back and then stiffened as she read the screen.

 

“Oh, shit…” she breathed, backing away.

 

“What does it say?” Rivali asked.

 

“These are instructions for installing updates on…”

 

“On what?!” Moore asked frantically.

 

“He’s not human.”

 

“But we suspected that he’s Galra-” Rivali started.

 

“He’s being _controlled_ by the Galra. He’s a clone.”

 

“What? Since when? Like... always? I don’t understand,” Rivali said.

 

Elise walked up to the screen again and began navigating through various menus and pages for more details. “He’s undermining the country’s intelligence on the Galra so that we’re sitting ducks the day they come to wipe us out. He’s part of a preliminary experiment to inform future operations. It’s called ‘Experiment Kuron.’ About twenty years ago they began placing clones across dozens of primitive planets just to see what would happen and which species the technology would work well with. It looks like half of the species rejected the technology and died or had major complications. And maybe a quarter of the planets figured out what was happening and took the clone out of power and are now on high alert for alien invasion.”

 

“So this means we’re one of the dumber but more resilient species out there,” Rivali commented.

 

“It means we’re too trusting of our leadership. Or that we’re too easily governed by fear. We’ve been indoctrinated,” Moore spat, mind racing with questions. _Wouldn’t a cyborg be easier? Or is manipulating our actual biology even more advanced than that?_ “So if he’s a clone… it’s like the Galra replicated the hardware and installed their own software.”

 

“Yeah,” Elise agreed, scrolling through more screens. “But really, it’s just one program, one single module in the brain that overrides the others as needed. Or when instructed. This is so messed up.”

 

Rivali stood and began pacing again. “So, if you opened up his head right now, nothing would look different, right? How do we prove what he really is? How do we tip others off to investigate this?”

 

“There might be something, a few foreign sensors or leads. But if there’s nothing visible to the naked eye, maybe it could be proven with neuroimaging or something. Like there’s instructions or commands from this computer that would cause different parts of his brain to light up,” Moore wondered. _I could ask Mom. How would I explain this to her?_ “This is way more complex than I thought it would be. The more information I find, the more we uncover… the more powerless I feel… It’s like a cancer. It’s everywhere. You remove the tumor and then one turns up somewhere else. And you remove that and there’s this entire network metastasizing. It’s systemic. Fuck…”

 

“Well, I’m going to snap shots of the different screens so I can take time to translate everything,” Elise said, pulling out her phone.

 

“So, have the data from these experiments been implemented into an actual mission or a formal operation yet?” Moore asked.

 

“It doesn’t say. Let’s hope not because we might be one of the ideal targets,” Elise responded, tapping the screen. She abruptly stopped. “Oh, shit.”

 

“Oh, fuck, what else?” Rivali complained.

 

“There are three subjects in the system. I don’t know which one is Adisa. They just have numeric identifiers.”

 

“No names?” Moore questioned. “Who else is a clone within the Garrison’s ranks?”

 

“Iverson,” Rivali growled under his breath.

 

“Maybe…” Moore speculated.

 

“Chief of Safety and Mission Assurance. He oversees Global Securities and has a scar similar to Adisa’s. It’s smaller but it’s also over his left eyebrow.”

 

“They both have scars?” Moore had never seen the two officers up close. “Well, what about Iverson then?”

 

Rivali gestured at his face. “He’s got the eye thing. But it’s also on the left side.”

 

“Has his eye always been like that?” Moore asked. “The rumor among our class was that it was a weapons training accident when he was a cadet.”

 

Rivali shook his head as he thought back. “No, halfway through my third year of school, he started having these eye twitches but everyone was too scared to ask him about it. And not long after that, it just stayed closed.”

 

Moore quickly did the math. “That was nineteen years ago… It checks out if the Galra started this experiment twenty years ago, maybe they got to us a little later than other planets. And based on the incision scars or entry through they eye, they’ve probably targeted the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex. That would make a lot of sense since it handles our decision making and interpretation of reality. And the left side’s function is to justify behavior even if-

 

Elise finished taking pictures. “Sorry to interrupt, boys, but let’s get the hell out of here and talk anatomy and physiology later.”

 

\-----

 

The trio quickly ran into a pub and watched a Global Securities car pull in the parking lot shortly after. Moore’s heart was still pounding from the white-knuckled ride over. They walked away from the windows and towards the back of the dingy bar as Corey Hart serenaded them with “Sunglasses at Night.”

 

“The bartender must’ve known you were coming,” Rivali teased Elise after he ordered a round.

 

Moore anxiously kept his eye on the door. “How long do they usually wait?”

 

“They usually give up by 3:00 A.M,” Rivali responded, checking the time. “You guys should call a cab soon and get out of here so we’re not seen together. I’ll hang back for a while.”

 

“Do they ever come inside?”

 

“No, they just wait outside and follow me home.”

 

“OK,” Moore replied apprehensively, pulling his phone out of his pocket to request a ride.

 

“Moore? I don’t know what to do with this information. I still have a few more things to take care of, but I don’t think I can have Harper make the announcement in the next few days.”

 

“You need to wait. We need to time this right and hit the Garrison hard. I just won’t be able to give you much advance notice. I’ll be able to give you three days max.” _After we see stars from Lourdes._ If they executed the escape the same morning that Harper announced the new investigation team, the Garrison would be spread too thin to respond properly to either situation.

 

“Moore, if we wait too long they’ll have to push the launch date back and-”

 

“Rivali! The only investigation that matters is the one here on Earth. There is _nothing_ to investigate on Kerberos. We already know what’s going on out there. We already know what happened.” Moore then pointed to Elise. “She’s all the intelligence you need. The Kerberos crew was abducted by a malicious alien race. And they will eventually come for this planet. They’re already toying with the heads of a prominent government organization.”

 

“But-”

 

“There is nothing out in space for us. There is nothing. We need to prepare for the battle for Earth. And if the people you’ve been imprisoning will form an alliance with us, then we will have proper intelligence to have a fighting chance. But you need to wait until I give you the OK.”

 

“What are you planning, Moore? You can trust me, what’s going on?”

 

“I’ll contact you three days before you need to make the announcement. Until then, it’s business as usual.”

 

Irritated, Rivali took a swig of his beer, sorting his thoughts. “I have a crazy idea… You hack that computer to reveal all the clones in the Garrison.”

 

“How the fuck would I hack an alien program?! Are you out of your mind? I needed two additional people just to help make a stupid ID card.”

 

Rivali smiled and took another drink. “Oh, come on, Moore. Programming is just numbers, right? Here’s where I talk about what Shiro taught me. If numbers really are a universal language... then just break it down to physics. Their programming is the same as ours even if it’s more advanced. Elise translates and you hack. You infect them with a virus and expose them.”

 

 _That would involve going back to the Garrison. That would involve writing a virus and then translating it and… OK, it’s complicated... But maybe_ _it’s_ _worth a shot. Break it down to physics..._

 

Rivali continued. “The virus just needs to be something simple. Something stupid. They all pass out at lunch like clockwork. They all scratch their ass every hour, on the hour. They all start speaking an alien language at the same time.”

 

Moore’s phone lit up as the cab driver called to let them know he was outside. _That could work… Well not ass-scratching, but a weird gesture. A tic. Some sort of uncanny coincidence. Maybe a relapse..._ “I’ll think about it. Ready, Elise?”

 

Elise lingered, finishing her whiskey. “Thanks for the drink, Alex. And the smoke. And for not being a complete tool tonight.”

 

“Out of nicknames?”

 

“Are you done complaining about them?”

 

Rivali shrugged and grinned before taking another drink. “I could get used to Lexi.”

 

Elise smiled back. “All right, then. Good night, Lexi.”

 

\-----

 

“Good morning, Sergeant!” Colleen waved, carrying her usual stack of file folders.

 

Erikson looked around. He didn’t see any guards nearby and decided to approach her again. Gwansun theorized that the more Erikson prodded at her with personal details from outside of the camps, that maybe something would click. They just needed to be patient. If she really had been brainwashed, it would just take time.

 

Gwansun also thought that rather than playing along with Colleen’s optimistic conversation, causing her distress could possibly result in old memories resurfacing. The problem is that the guards would punish Erikson if he began meddling with their little mind-control experiment.

 

Erikson decided he’d try a little, just to see how she’d react.

 

“I’m so happy to see you again!” Colleen said as Erikson neared. Her face contorted with concern as he came closer. “Are you all right, Sergeant? You shouldn’t look so unhappy.”

 

“Mrs. Holt, I _am_ unhappy.”

 

“But why? We’re all happy.”

 

“People aren’t happy here, Mrs. Holt. The Garrison is imprisoning these people,” he whispered.

 

“Oh, nonsense. This is a refugee camp. We’re treating these poor souls and providing them with the skills they need to go out into our workforce. They will be productive members of our society one day. They will be happy.”

 

“Mrs. Holt, I think the Garrison is lying to you. Do you remember the Kerberos Mission?”

 

Erikson watched as a guard began to approach to hurry Colleen along. She also noticed the guard and then fell into a strange outburst, dropping her file folders. “Of course I remember the Kerberos Mission! Takashi Shirogane killed my husband!”

 

“Mrs. Holt, please calm down,” Erikson begged. “The ship didn’t crash. Takashi is alive. And Sam and Matt might be as well.”

 

“Matt is at school! Why are you trying to make me unhappy?” Tears began streaming down Collen’s face.

 

“I want you to know the truth, Mrs. Holt. There’s hope. But a different kind of hope than what the Garrison is offering you.”

 

“Refugee 517! Stop harassing the employee!” the guard shouted.

 

Collen stooped to collect her things and Erikson knelt to help her. “Please believe me, Mrs. Holt. Sam might be out there.”

 

“Refugee 517!!”

 

“Mrs. Holt,” Erikson pleaded.

 

Colleen Holt grabbed Erikson’s shoulder and whispered into his ear before she stood. She spoke with a completely different tone of voice. “They easily forget who I am. I’m a Holt.” She then looked at Erikson with determination in her eyes. “They can’t hack this,” she said, pointing to her head right before the guard reached them.

 

“What’s all this? Are you OK, Mrs. Holt?”

 

“I’m sorry, yes, I’m better. I forgot to be happy. I forgot but he helped me.” She then looked at Erikson who was still reeling from what she’d just told him. “I would be so happy if we could catch up over brunch this Sunday. I know a great place. Bring a friend.”

 

_Bring a friend? Bring a friend? What is she- SEND a friend…_

 

“OK, I’ll try, Mrs. Holt.”

 

The guard chuckled at their seemingly pointless conversation.

 

“Sunday,” Erikson repeated.

 

“Sunday. I’m so happy you can come.”

 

Erikson had to get to Lourdes. They needed to send Moore a message ASAP.

 

\-----

 

Celine texted a photo to Woolf with the caption: Most boring accomplishment ever.

 

It was a picture of Su and Celine unenthusiastically holding their certificates of completion after their hoverbike training course.

 

Her phone pinged her boyfriend’s response: Aw, I’m proud of you ladies. You look ecstatic! lol

 

Celine: Are you coming back this weekend?

 

Woolf: Can’t. I’ve been in nonstop meetings for the past 2 weeks and I need to work the weekend. There’s a big pitch we’re working on for some top-secret agency. We can’t even find out who it is until we land the business. Moore’s supposed to text me the minute he needs me to book a flight to come back. I miss you.

 

Celine: Miss you too.

 

Disappointed, Celine dropped her phone in her bag. _I guess Elliot’s not going to show me cool tricks on the bike anytime soon…_

 

\-----

 

Jules parked his car down the street. He pulled the sheet of paper out of the plastic bag of triangles and stared at the mosaic of mismatched letters.

 

This was a strange little situation. He’d only been able to find information regarding Katie Holt up until last summer.  She graduated middle school around the time the death of the Kerberos crew was announced. And then there were no more records. She didn’t enroll in high school. She wasn’t being home-schooled. She wasn’t on social media. There was no change in address. She didn’t have a passport. There wasn’t a death certificate. It was like she’d vanished.

 

Leaving his sunglasses on just in case there were cameras positioned outside of the house, he walked up to the address Moore had given him and rang the doorbell. A pale woman with short hair and brown eyes answered the door. “Can I help you?”

 

“Yes, we have a mutual friend. He wanted us to all meet for brunch today, but unfortunately he can’t make it. I hope that your schedule is still open?”

 

“Oh, yes, I’m so happy that you could still make it.”

 

“Do you have a place in mind?”

 

“Yes,” the woman said, closing the door behind her and lowering her voice. “I’ll drive. I have some things in my car to show you. I’m Colleen by the way.”

 

“I’m Jules.”

 

Jules followed Colleen into the garage and sat down in the passenger seat. At a glance, the backseat appeared to be overtaken by a random clutter of papers and books. But Jules began to wonder if it was for show when he noticed a single box crammed with file folders underneath a worn quilt. Each tab was labeled with what appeared to be a family surname: Quan, Reiss, Tam, Williams, Young, Ziegler...

 

Colleen observed Jules as she closed the car door after locking up. “Names A through P are in the trunk. We have much to discuss.”

 

\-----

 

Celine hoped her instinct was right as she rode her hoverbike into the luxury condominium complex. Elliot would be very upset with her if he knew what she was doing. But if Moore could sort of trust this guy, then hopefully she could, too.

 

Rivali was standing on the driveway, finishing changing the oil of his muscle car when Celine pulled up. She whistled as she pulled off her red helmet. “Is that a supercharged six-liter hemi?”

 

Rivali replaced the dipstick and turned around. “6.2. Yeah… What are you doing here?”

 

Celine approached and stood next to Rivali, admiring the engine. “How many horses?”

 

“Eight hundred eight.”

 

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful.”

 

Rivali snorted and crossed his arms. “Did you just come here to ogle my car?”

 

“No, you need to show me how to ride that thing,” she said, pointing to the black hoverbike with red racing stripes.

 

“Uh… it looks like you rode it here just fine.”

 

“I need to learn more advanced stuff, like high-speed maneuverability.”

 

“So that you can make shopping trips that much faster?”

 

“Fuck you, this is important.”

 

Rivali narrowed his eyes. “What’s this for?”

 

Celine just stared back and didn’t answer. He knew what this was for. Or at least had a faint idea as to what this was about. “I know you don’t have anything better to do.”

 

“I have lots of… things to do. OK?”

 

“Bullshit. You’re going to finish this and then you’re going to send out your laundry and call your cleaning lady so you can kick back and drink that six-pack in your fridge. So, you’re going to teach me some cool shit instead.”

 

Rivali stayed silent, mustering some sort of an argument to prove that he was busy when, in fact, he was not.

 

Celine turned on her heel and readied her helmet. “Fine, the clones will just get me and you’ll have to live with that on your conscience. Among other things…”

 

“How do you know about- You’re not going to tell me what this is for, are you?”

 

“No. I’ll help you rotate your tires, though.”

 

“My tires don’t need…” Rivali glanced down at his back tires. “OK, they do need rotating.”

 

Celine grinned. “Deal?”

 

“Deal,” Rivali relented.

 

Celine tossed her helmet onto the grass and jogged into the garage to gather the necessary tools.

 

“Uh, OK, just… help yourself... I guess.”

 

Celine collected jack stands one by one. “I can’t believe you don’t have a hydraulic floor jack,” she said, unceremoniously tossing a lug wrench onto Rivali’s lawn and gesturing to the jack he had used to change the car’s oil. “This thing’s old as shit.”

 

“Whatever, it does the job.”

 

“Yeah, a shitty one. We should go buy a new one. ”

 

“Oh, really? You’re just going to commandeer the rest of my day?”

 

“Yep. Do you really need an excuse to visit the auto parts store? I don’t.”

 

Rivali chuckled. “What I wouldn’t give to hear my daughter say that. I couldn’t even get her to play with a toy car when she was a toddler.”

 

Celine grabbed her helmet. “I’ll meet you there. And then we’re going to tear shit up in the desert.”

 

“Has Moore thought about my idea?” Rivali called after her, removing the apparently outdated jack from underneath his car.

 

“He’s working on it…”

 

\-----

 

Locating their usual corner in the shadows, the three prisoners settled on the ground and closed their eyes. But Gwansun’s psychic realm felt different today. It was cold and an ominous energy weighed down on Erikson. Black clouds floated overhead and the usually rose-tinted surroundings had taken on more of a purple hue.

 

Lourdes’ voice echoed. “What’s going on?”

 

“He’s coming for them. I can’t stop him.” Gwansun’s voice trembled.

 

“Coming for who?” Erikson called out as the details of Gwansun’s realm began to disappear. The entire plane went black, but he continued to shout into the dark void. “Gwansun?! Lourdes?!”

 

And then Erikson found himself back in the dimly-lit camps. “Gwansun?”

 

She opened her eyes and tried to slow her breath. “Every time I meditate, I see him. I have to get out of here. I’m unable to stop Zarkon here.”

 

Lourdes knelt next to Gwansun, trying to calm her. “Well, that’s what we’re doing. We’re working on it.”

 

Gwansun just shook her head. “We don’t have much time. Start making your stars, Lourdes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone knows, I don’t smoke, I don’t encourage smoking, but for some reason it just feels like it completes certain scenes for dramatic purposes. But seriously, don’t smoke.
> 
> And sorry for my bodega tangent. Apparently I have a strange passion for bodegas.
> 
> And, as always, thanks to [avidbeader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader) forever and ever. Amen. No one likes poor comma usage. Except for me. But she keeps me in line.
> 
> If all goes according to plan (and when does it, really?) there will be 2 more chapters after this. Cross your fingers. Or don’t and doom me to an eternity of writing this AU.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!!!


	18. The battle for our existence- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary Part 1:
> 
> The time is now.
> 
> The team’s plans finally come together. But Medina wishes he had purple unicorns on his hoverbike for the occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that violence is a tag for this work but seriously… there’s violence.
> 
> Thank you thank you [avidbeader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader) for beta reading.

 

Colleen collected her file folders of purchase orders, strategically placing them on top of another folder labeled “Schwartz.” She then walked toward the exit, stopping at the supervisor’s office. Taking her usual seat and offering her usual blank smile, she complied with the standard routine that ended each and every work day.

 

“How was your day, Mrs. Holt?”

 

“Oh, very good,” she replied, handing over her Garrison-issued phone to another guard. The guard checked through her history and ensured the proper websites were still blocked.

 

“I hope you’re still happy here.”

 

“Of course I’m happy. We’re all happy.”

 

“You are right, Mrs. Holt. We are all happy.”

 

“We are all happy,” she repeated.

 

“Have you been watching the news lately?”

 

“Oh, me? I don’t have a television or computer anymore. I’m too busy to be bothered with the news anyhow.”

 

“That’s good. It’s a bunch of silly lies these days. Can you tell me, if you were ever questioned about what these people are doing in these isolation camps, what would you say? How would you explain what we are doing here? I don’t know that many news reporters would understand the intricacies of our mission.”

 

“I completely agree. We are protecting them until they can be productive members of our society. The press would need to be given simple answers. They couldn’t possibly understand what we are trying to accomplish.”

 

“And do you recall what happened to your husband?”

 

“He died.”

 

“Why did he die?”

 

“Takashi Shirogane. He was an inexperienced pilot.”

 

“That’s correct. And where is Katie?”

 

“She is at school. She is enrolled in the engineering program at the Galaxy Garrison. She loves computers. She is very happy.”

 

“And where is Matt?”

 

“He is also at the Galaxy Garrison. He graduated and now works as an assistant researcher in the astrobiology department.”

 

“How does he like it? That job must keep him busy.”

 

“He is happy. He is very busy... I hardly see him.”

 

“Well, thank you for speaking with me. I’m happy to hear that everything is going well for you and your family. Sergeant Branston will be driving you home tonight. See you on Monday, Mrs. Holt.”

 

Colleen politely nodded and turned to hide the single tear she was unable to prevent from running down her cheek. Waiting to be escorted out, she double-checked to make sure the folder with the surname “Schwartz” was still hidden among the stack in her arms. The Garrison would never rip apart another family. She was personally seeing to it.

 

And now she had the help she needed to complete her project.

 

\-----

 

Moore and Elise sat for hours on end, consulting with other Knowledge Holders, debating the translation of every last Galra character, double-checking every line of code. The virus had to be flawless. If the code was wrong, they wouldn’t be worse off and over time they could probably devise other ways to reveal the Galra clones. But if it was right… It could be incredibly powerful. And if timed with the imprisonment camp escape and the new Kerberos crew announcement, it could be crippling. 

 

But it had to be perfect.

 

\-----

 

“Elliot! Have a seat! I feel like we haven’t gotten a chance to catch up since you’ve been back.” Ms. Greene closed her office door behind Woolf and then sat back down behind her desk. “I wanted to personally thank you for all your hard work these past few weeks on this new business pitch.”

 

Woolf shrugged off the compliment. “Oh, thanks. I’m just- you know…”

 

“Well, I’m just grateful to have someone with your expertise on the team. And I have good news! Last night we found out that we won the new business.”

 

“That’s great!”

 

“Yeah, we’re really excited. This is going to be a very intense, long-term project, so we’re strategically building the team. Unfortunately, anyone who isn’t fully committed can’t be considered. On top of that, the company has let those people go due to the sensitive nature of the project. Those who don’t agree with the direction we’re taking can’t be kept on board at this point.”

 

A red flag went up in the back of Woolf’s mind but he politely nodded. “Sounds serious.”

 

“Elliot, I would love to have you on the team, but I know the Galaxy Garrison is a controversial organization right now.”

 

“The… Galaxy Garrison? That was the client the whole time?”

 

“Yes. And I know they were your former employer. But implementing our technology on an entire fleet of autonomous ships… The possibilities are endless. I think it’s so exciting. But, like I said, there have been quite a few of our colleagues who disagree.”

 

“Right…” Woolf had a terrible feeling, but tried to hide the disgust souring in the back of his throat.

 

“I already have the approval for your promotion, you’d be made Product Development Director of the project. You’d be the youngest director at the company.”

 

“That’s… I’m flattered.”

 

Ms. Green excitedly stood. “Just think. No more mission failures because of human mistakes. No more pilot errors, Elliot.”

 

The disgust quickly turned to anger. “It wasn’t a pilot error!” he snapped before he could reconsider his knee-jerk response.

 

The executive startled at Woolf’s uncharacteristic outburst. “I- I’m sorry. It’s just that all the Garrison reports-”

 

“Are lies,” Woolf interjected. 

 

“Elliot, I’m sorry if I’ve said something to upset you. All I’m trying to say is that self-flying aircraft would take some of the risk out of sending humans into space. Smaller crews means less lives being put on the line.”

 

She had a point, he guessed. Sort of. But without innate morals or properly programmed ethics, these computers could carry on what the Galaxy Garrison had started. Adisa could manipulate the technology and control the ships from the comfort of his office chair. No human conscience to question right from wrong. And eventually no humans to even benefit or learn from the findings. Isn’t that what made human space exploration so… human?

 

“Well, what do you think? I was able to pull a substantial raise for your promotion. You’d also have to sign a five-year contract. You’re more than welcome to review the fine print with our legal team before you sign.”

 

This wasn’t going to stop. He could sign on and try to dismantle it from the inside, but could he morally live with himself for five years while overseeing this project? And be distanced from Celine? And his friends? Especially knowing what was really happening? Would Earth even be around in five years? Woolf shook his head as he slowly stood and backed away from the executive’s desk. “I can’t…”

 

Ms. Greene looked disappointed. “Elliot? Why don’t you take some time to think about it? The contract doesn’t need to be signed for a few more days.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Greene.”

 

“But Elliot, just give it a few-”

 

“I can’t accept this position, thank you.” It took an impressive amount of self-restraint to keep himself from declaring a satisfying “I quit.” His severance wouldn't be much, but it was better than receiving nothing because of his pride.

 

\-----

 

Seated in his hotel room, Jules waited for the documents to feed through the scanner as he stared with bloodshot eyes at the remaining files. He couldn’t believe that Colleen had managed to smuggle this amount of information out from under the Garrison’s nose.

 

Countless families across the country would find out what had happened to their loved ones. It would also give a very personal edge to the story. The majority of the public would be able to identify at least one person in this network of partial aliens that they knew. Neighbors. Coworkers. Friends.

 

Obviously many people would be scared of the idea that a small population among them had alien lineage. But hopefully the voices of those who would not stand for the subjugation of humans, no matter their geneology, would overpower those who demanded to continue this inhumane and tribalistic segregation. 

 

Jules readied the “Nelson” folder, removing Colleen’s color-coordinated binder clips before collecting the “Naik” files off the scanner. At least he was more than halfway through the names, although he still had to type up a press release summary. Unsure of the timeline, it was best to finish this project sooner than later. Releasing the files to the press and various humanitarian organizations all hinged on Moore’s iminent go-ahead.

 

He couldn’t wait to see the high-ranking officers of the Galaxy Garrison brought to justice.

 

And he couldn’t wait to see Jesper.

 

\-----

 

Celine carefully dusted the sand off of the satellite’s solar panel. According to her app, it was still transmitting but she was beginning to question if Keith and Shiro would ever receive the message.

 

She tossed her tools into the seat compartment and opted to leave her helmet in there as well. None of the guys were there to lecture her on hoverbike safety. She started up the hoverbike, accelerated, and leaned into a sharp one-eighty, brushing her fingers through the sand just because she could before speeding away. It was a little arrogant but no one was watching. On her way to the Garrison’s trash collection site, she tightly hugged each boulder that stood in her way, just like the obstacle course Rivali had set up for her. 

 

With the wind whipping through her hair and the peaceful landscape rushing past, she finally understood the freedom Keith had found in flying. As she neared the isolated trash collection warehouse, she watched a group of Garrison vehicles pulling away.  _ Perfect timing. _

 

As usual, she counted the bags from the south end of the building to target the exact ones to begin with. Her boxcutter slashed through the outer plastic and inner paper bags as she thought about her route home.  _ Somewhere to practice a good jump… _ After slashing open the third bag, her wandering mind ground to a halt as she processed her findings.  _ Oh my god. _

 

The bags were overflowing with delicate paper stars.

 

_ It’s time. _

 

With shaking hands, she dropped her boxcutter and texted Moore. 

 

\-----

 

Moore stared at his phone in disbelief. “It’s now or never,” he said to Elise.

 

Elise sighed. “I was sort of hoping that the Garrison would conveniently fall off the face of the Earth before I had to set foot in it again. Sinkholes are a real thing, right?”

 

“We have to do this tonight.” The code had been ready for two days, but they’d both found excuses to put off revisiting the tiny basement room to upload their creation. Both afraid of a single typo or incorrect translation that would keep their vision from coming to fruition. 

 

“The cameras will go faster this time,” Moore reassured Elise as he quickly sent out individual notifications to Medina, Woolf, Rivali, and Jules. Three days. They had three days.

 

\-----

 

Exhaused from another night of ducking though the aviation building corridors and giving input on Elise’s dating site randos (and seriously, who knew a foot fetish was actually a thing that could be so frequently encountered in online dating?), Rivali was still trying to shake the chill that had settled in his bones from sitting in the Galra supercomputer’s haunting violet light. In need of more coffee and hoping to test his hypothesis, he decided to take a stroll along one of the hallways that overlooked the sim atrium. 

 

Sure enough, Iverson was standing outside of the intergalactic sim, barking at a cowering trio of students. 

 

Sergeant Harper walked up alongside Rivali. “It’s all set,” she whispered. “I already wrote the email, it’ll automatically be sent at 0500 on Saturday.”

 

This was actually happening. “OK.”

 

“I also booked a conference room in the Sun Valley Hotel and Convention Center so that I can meet with the press there. I don’t want to be home when the Garrison finds out and I obviously won’t be able to hold press conferences here. I don’t think you should be home either. We’ll definitely be fired and it’ll take the Garrison several hours to figure out what’s going on but… just in case Global Securities decides to retaliate.”

 

Rivali nodded and tried to ignore the anxiety tightening in his chest. The Garrison was all he’d known for more than half of his life. But he’d figure something out. He’d have to swallow his pride and probably find a job with an airline, no doubt with a mind-numbingly boring regional route. Because karma. Not that he believed in that stuff. Although the line between reality and supernatural was starting to get extremely blurry.

 

Harper’s sudden gasp startled Rivali. She took off running toward the stairs and shouted to a group of officers staring down at the intergalactic sim. “Call 9-1-1! He might be having a stroke!”

 

Rivali looked back and the same group of students was huddled around Iverson, trying to help him up from the floor. 

 

It was difficult to sort through the conflicted emotions churning in his gut at that very moment. It was a strange combination of excitement and fear, of accomplishment and foreboding terror. Rivali checked the time and texted Moore and Medina: Number 3 down. 0800 on the dot.

 

_ It worked. Now to see who the others are. _

 

Rivali turned to walk back to his desk to see if the Chief of Safety and Mission Assurance had room on his schedule for a quick touch base tomorrow at 0800.

 

\-----

 

The following night, Celine finished detailing the blue stripes on the last hoverbike while a recently unemployed Woolf installed a trailer hitch on the bike with yellow stripes. “Are you sure, Su?”

 

Su nodded, spinning a shuriken on her finger. “I can’t use these and steer. And I’m not going to be the one to drive Shiro’s bike.”

 

“Well, we haven’t really decided who rides what bike,” Celine countered, even though she’d already planned out who would get which color.

 

“Trust me, I’d be left with Shiro’s bike. I shouldn’t be driving it.”

 

_ How does she just know shit like that? _

 

“It’s not too much trouble to tow it, right?” Su asked Woolf.

 

“Nah, Medina can handle it. He’s good with that kind of stuff.”

 

Su snorted. “He’s not gonna like yellow stripes though.”

 

“Well, he’s just going to have to deal with it,” Woolf responded. “I’m almost done with this and then we should really get to bed soon.”  _ Big day tomorrow... _

 

\-----

 

Lourdes and three other prisoners waited until the night guard’s footsteps faded before rounding the corner to approach the southeast emergency exit. They piled the sugar packets at the base of the door and uncoiled the strips of bed linens soaked in cooking oil. It wouldn’t be as effective as lighter fluid, but it wasn’t like Moore would’ve been able to disguise flammable hydrocarbons in juice boxes. Hiding matches in toothpick boxes had already been quite a feat.

 

They ran the makeshift wick along the edge of the dirt wall and then around the corner where the first prisoner, Naik, would wait until given the signal to blow the exit.

 

One down, two to go. 

 

\-----

 

It was still cold and dark when Celine and Woolf pulled the hoverbikes out of the garage just before 4:00 A.M. 

 

Celine calmed her nerves by reminding herself of the simplicity of the mission. They just had to swoop in, pick up Gwansun, Lourdes, and Erikson and get them to a safe location. It was easy... assuming that all went well. Jules and Colleen Holt would handle the outpouring of prisoners by coordinating emergency assistance teams and alerting the press.

 

And hopefully the few overnight armed guards would already be dealt with. 

 

“You OK, darling?” Woolf sensed Celine’s anxiously wandering mind.

 

“Yeah. I hope this goes according to plan.”

 

“We uh… we ready?” Moore nervously asked as he stepped outside with Su, Elise, and Medina.

 

Celine nodded. “As ready as we’re going to be. You’ve got green, Moore.” Celine pointed to the lightweight bike with green stripes.

 

“Oh, cool. You color coordinated the bikes?” Moore said, circling his assigned vehicle.

 

“Yep, I’m fancy like that. Medina, you’ve got yellow.”

 

“Yellow?! What the fuck?” Medina gestured at his bike with Shiro’s already hitched to the back.

 

“What’s wrong with yellow?” Celine asked defensively. “It’s a nice, warm color. It’s for your… sunny personality.”

 

“Are you fucking serious? I’m not sunny. Why didn’t I get blue or red?”

 

Woolf rolled his eyes as he mounted the bike with blue stripes. “Medina, if you keep bitching, we’ll put purple glitter and unicorns on your bike.”

 

Medina crossed his arms indignantly. “I think I’d like that better. Put some fucking pink streamers on the handlebars while you’re at it.”

 

The group laughed. “OK. Pink streamers, purple glitter, and unicorns for Medina. I’ll file that one away for next time,” Celine teased.

 

“I’ll rock some fucking purple unicorns,” Medina grumbled as he got on his bike.

 

Su climbed on behind Moore as three of the hoverbikes roared to life, Medina’s reluctantly joining in seconds later. Woolf checked the stars and his compass while Moore plugged coordinates into the bike’s GPS before they headed out, leaving Elise nervously waving goodbye from the front porch.

 

\-----

 

Jules checked the email addresses one last time and took a deep breath before sharing the link to the uploaded files of every prisoner being held in the Galra Imprisonment Camps. 

 

\-----

 

Harper put on her uniform and finished her coffee. She then opened her laptop to check her sent items. The message had been sent minutes ago to all major news networks and the collaborating international space agencies. 

 

By the time she pulled into to the hotel parking lot, her phone was already ringing.

 

\-----

 

0600 was the perfect time to strike. Shift change occured an hour later, so the guards were more lackadaisical about patrolling the bunks, tired and bored from the quiet overnight shift. They were also used to some of the prisoners being up and about at those hours to get ahead of the rush for the bathrooms.

 

A concerned Erikson waited beside Gwansun while she finished meditating. She’d been plagued by visions of Zarkon and his increasing power in the days leading up to the escape. He watched as she trembled and clenched her eyes, fighting for tranquility in her psychic plane.

 

“Something’s happening,” Gwansun whispered, opening her eyes as Lourdes walked over. 

 

“What do you mean?” Erikson asked.

 

“They’re not safe.”

 

“The prisoners? Or are you talking about Voltron again?”

 

Lourdes knelt down and looked into Gwansun’s eyes. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

 

“I can’t. He’s everywhere.”

 

“She’s never had premonitions quite like this,” Lourdes told Erikson. “Gwansun, let’s get this over with and if we need to proceed directly to the teleport hub, then that’s what we’ll do.”

 

“I can’t just take off without knowing that everyone will be safe. They’re relying on me,” Gwansun countered.

 

“And so is Voltron. Please be safe,” Lourdes pleaded, knowing that she’d never be able to sway Gwansun once she had made up her mind. “If you’re injured today then we can’t be of any assistance to Voltron.” 

 

Gwansun inhaled a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair to compose herself. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Well... they’re all waiting for you,” Lourdes said, helping her leader up.

 

Flanked by Lourdes and Erikson, Gwansun addressed the prisoners who had assembled underneath the overhanging shipping containers. Many were anxious and ready to fight. Many were also grumbling and voicing their doubts.

 

“I hate public speaking,” Gwansun mumbled.

 

“Just speak from your heart,” Lourdes encouraged.

 

“That’s the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Gwansun criticized.

 

The crowd quieted and Lourdes elbowed Gwansun to speak. “Uh, thank you all for... joining us… here.”

 

“This isn’t a casual meet up at a restaurant,” Lourdes hissed through her teeth. 

 

Gwansun glared at Lourdes but Erikson offered a reassuring hand on her shoulder before she continued. “Today is the day we have been planning for. We have been wrongfully imprisoned by the Galaxy Garrison because of a difference in our genes that is beyond our control. Nonetheless, that genetic difference is of alien lineage. The world will soon learn that there are aliens that threaten our existence and that  _ we _ are the ones that will be able to stop this from happening. But we can’t stop it from down here.

 

“Not long from now, we will be standing underneath a sky some of us have not seen for months, years, or even decades. We will finally be able to reunite with our families. But we cannot become complacent as we once were down here. We will need to rally our families, friends, and all those who support our human rights. Yes, we are alien, but we are more human than anything else.

 

“Before we can do that, however, we must fight. I ask that you not kill unless absolutely necessary. The guards that work here are merely doing as they are told. Disarm and injure but save your bloodlust for those who have truly wronged us: those who command from behind the safety of their glass doors and oak desks at the Galaxy Garrison. The cowards who have hunted us. The men who have played god with our freedom.”

 

Erikson watched as the group began to nod in agreement, a cacophony of angry voices slowly building.

 

Gwansun raised her right hand and emitted a shimmering purple glow from her palm to quiet the group. “Thousands of centuries ago, my family acted as intermediaries between our people and the lifeforce of the universe. My ancestors were able to harness this power to heal and, eventually, to facilitate the teleportation process. And they passed this knowledge down through the generations. Unfortunately this power has been severely corrupted in some of my family’s descendants. And now the entire universe is suffering as a result.”

 

The last sentences gave Erikson pause.  _ Wait… is she saying she’s related to- _

 

“Some of this power is still left in me and I promise you that I will use it for the good of our people. But I ask you not to follow me because of this power. I ask to you follow me because I offer liberation. This is not just the battle for our freedom. This is the battle for our existence. And the time is now.”

 

Lourdes sank to one knee and held her right forearm against her chest, bowing her head. A few prisoners began following suit. As more joined, Erikson felt Gwansun’s energy surge. Assuming this was some sort of traditional Galra expression of respect, Erikson pushed Gwansun’s Zarkon-is-my-distant-relative revelation aside and took a knee as well.

 

After rising back to their feet, the crowd began dividing into the groups Lourdes had previously designated. A guard with a flashlight appeared from down a nearby passage. “Hey, you can’t all congregate like this. What’s going here?”

 

Faced with a sea of outraged purple eyes, the guard’s mouth dropped and the flashlight began trembling when he realized what was about to happen. “Oh, shit.”

 

\-----

 

Jules and Colleen drove along a rural dirt road that brought them to an overlook; the same location they’d given the press. Binoculars in hand, they scanned the desert and waited.

 

\-----

 

Shortly after first light, the team arrived and found a rock formation to hide behind until it was time. Moore nervously checked his watch while Medina unhitched Shiro’s bike. Woolf yanked off his helmet and began scolding Celine for her reckless driving along the way to the camps.

 

“I was just practicing a new jump! Relax, Elliot!” Celine defended herself after removing her own helmet.

 

“You pulled away from the group so you could fly off the edge of that cliff rather than following the path along the overhang! That was completely unnecessary and you could’ve gotten hurt. There’s no way you learned that shit in a basic training course!”

 

Celine just grinned mischievously while Su looked around like she didn’t know any details regarding her friend’s newly-learned skills. “I might have guilted Rivali into a few one-on-one lessons.”

 

She received a resounding “You what?!” from all three boys.

 

“You were all busy so I took matters into my own hands. You can’t tell me that cliff jump wasn’t badass.”

 

Woolf was obviously trying to calm himself before he responded. “I can’t believe… You were alone with… OK… just… Try not to give me any more heart attacks today.”

 

Celine rolled her eyes. “Kay…”

 

But Woolf couldn’t let it go as easily as he thought. “Oh my god. Rivali? Are you serious? We  _ all _ just trust him now?”

 

“Well, sort of. Nothing happened. Stop being jealous.”

 

“I’m not jealous. I’m concerned for your well-being. Especially around someone like him.” Woolf then took a deep breath and paced. “OK… It’s fine. I’m fine…” 

 

Moore peered around the rock while Woolf calmed himself. The problem with being early was waiting… If the rebellion started at 0600, what time would they actually blow the exits? Hopefully soon since the dayshift guards would be arriving around 0700. What if the escape took longer? Then they’d have to fight off double the amount of guards...

 

Moore began playing through multiple scenarios where  _ everything _ went wrong.  _ And this is the problem with waiting. _

 

\-----

 

Rivali drove to Medina’s house and knocked on the front door. He’d left his condo before Harper’s announcement was released so that he could stop at the Garrison to quickly collect a few final things. After that, he’d tried texting Moore for further direction. But Moore wasn’t responding.

 

Elise answered the door. “Oh, hey, Lexi.”

 

“Where’s Moore?”

 

Elise just shrugged. “He’s not here right now.”

 

“It’s pretty early. Did they all leave? What’s going on?”

 

“They’re just… They’ll be back later. He’ll let you know if he needs you.”

 

_ She’s hiding something. _

 

_ What are they planning? Where could they be? What could they possibly be doing the same morning that we announced the new Kerberos investigation crew? _

 

Rivali’s eyes widened.  _ The camps…  _ “Did they go to the camps?” 

 

“N- no… they…” He took Elise’s delayed response as confirmation of his suspicion.

 

Rivali backed away from the door as he planned the fastest route with the least amount of cops. The best vehicle to steal at the armory outpost. The most direct path through the desert… “Thanks, Elise!”

 

“Wait, where are you going?” she asked nervously as he took off down the driveway. “Lexi? Lexi? Alex?! Fuck…”

 

\-----

 

In the flickering light of the fire blazing from the kitchen, the prisoners swarmed through the camps, scaling the metal stairs toward the network of shipping containers used as offices. Their sheer numbers enabled them to easily overtake the first few guards to respond. “Disarm them!” Lourdes shouted to the others while she pried a gun from the trembling fingers of the guard she’d just kicked in the groin. “Where is my blade?” she questioned, turning the gun on the guard.

 

“I- I- I don’t know! Please don’t hurt me!”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Garrison scum!” she spat, digging the heel of her boot into a pressure point on the man’s knee.

 

The guard winced in pain. “Th- they keep personal effects in the storage rooms by the supervisor's office. But no weapons. Those are kept at the Garrison.”

 

Lourdes growled in frustration, searching the man for his communications radio to keep him from calling for backup. “My blade is back at the Garrison? I guess I’m going to have to hurt a lot more people than I’d planned on today.”

 

Erikson waited by the stairs until the majority of the prisoners had made it up and then looked into the crowd to make sure Gwansun was protected and hidden. A guard that hadn’t responded to the kitchen fire began shooting at Erikson from behind the door of a shipping container.

 

Three months ago, Erikson would have run away, praying that the guard wouldn’t pursue. But instead, he instinctively ran in the direction of the shots and kicked the door down, immediately rendering the guard unconscious. 

 

He turned and saw another guard shooting into the crowd. Again, without questioning his intuition, he ran toward the active shooter. He quickly dropped and swept the guard’s feet out from underneath him. As if time slowed, he watched the man fall through the air. Erikson twisted his body to throw an elbow into the man’s diaphragm, driving him into the dirt floor and knocking the wind out of him. The guard writhed, gasping for air while Erikson relieved him of his weapon and radio.

 

The sound of bones breaking underneath his boot hardly phased him as he immobilized the guard, stomping down on the man’s fibula near his ankle.  _ Sorry… nothing personal. _

 

Suddenly, subtle vibrations on the ground, approaching from behind, caught Erikson’s attention. Recognizing the pattern of vibrations as footsteps, he lifted his right leg into a forceful back kick and felt his foot connect with his target’s jaw. He could almost hear Gwansun’s commands as she trained him, illuminated by the pink glow of the astral plane.  _ Dwi Chagi! _

 

He pivoted forward while retracting his back kick to assess the damage. Laid out on the ground, the guard’s eyes were wide with surprise as Erikson searched him and tossed his weapon to a prisoner that ran past. “I’m sorry,” Erikson apologized before yanking the man up by his uniform and headbutting him, leaving the guard out cold.

 

He scanned his surroundings for additional threats before following the few straggling prisoners. Three distinct explosions shook the ground without warning, knocking loose rocks down from the dirt walls. Keeping a mental count of the injured guards he passed, Erikson raced toward his assigned exit. But by the time the mangled doorway came into sight, he’d only counted sixteen guards and one officer.

 

_ There should be thirty. Where are the rest? _

 

\-----

 

The group ducked as the blasts sent sand, rocks, and shards of metal flying in all directions. While the dust settled, they mounted their hoverbikes and rode in the direction of the explosions.

 

Moore squinted and panicked at first when he couldn’t make out anyone leaving from the holes in the ground. But then he saw the first few as they emerged, shading their eyes from the intense sun that had already risen. 

 

Woolf raced ahead, jumped off his bike, and began triaging injuries. “We’re here to help!” he shouted over the wind. “The red and green bikes are going to shuttle people to a safe area! We can try to fit two at a time.”

 

Moore secretly thanked Woolf for assigning him a job that didn’t require fighting and idled as Woolf and Medina helped people onto the back of his bike after Su had dismounted. 

 

She stared off in the distance while she waited. “We’re going to have company,” she called out, pointing to two separate clouds of dust approaching from the south. Moore finished his text to Jules, letting him know they were on the way, and then looked through his binoculars.

 

“Medina! What’s the max speed of the new JLTVs?” Moore asked.

 

“The sand is deep out here, probably ‘bout forty-five miles per hour.”

 

“The smaller group is definitely the daytime guards. But the bigger group behind them… they’ll probably be here in an hour. We’ll only be able to make one run.”

 

\-----

 

Erikson turned and dashed toward the kitchen, coughing from the accumulating smoke. He counted two more injured guards along the way, but he still had eleven Garrison personnel unaccounted for, so he decided to investigate the other exits. The staff had the access to unlock those doors and he couldn’t ignore the possible threat of Garrison guards surfacing from a different exit point and shooting into the crowd of prisoners.

 

On his way to the northeast exit, he passed an emergency supply closet. The doors had been unlocked and left open. Peering into the small room, he found an open trunk with only two remaining rifles and a flashlight.  _ Shit. _

 

Erikson reached for the long metal flashlight as he sensed footsteps coming from down the hall. Ducking behind the trunk, he watched three guards run past and toward the northeast exit. 

 

Once the reverberations from the rushing footsteps were a safe distance, Erikson followed. 

 

\-----

 

Celine took off first while Moore watched as the dust clouds neared, recognizing the Garrison’s emergency response vehicles in the more distant group.  _ I wonder what security situation code this one received. A Z-9 as well? Is this considered an extraterrestrial threat? Or does Z-9 really just mean top-secret-shit-we-don’t-want-anyone-to-know-about? _

 

Before departing, Moore looked back into the growing mass of people stepping into the sunlight for the first time in… who knows how long. His chest fluttered when he caught a glimpse of Lourdes safe and sound, confidently directing people, toned arms flexing as she helped pull others to the surface.  _ God, why is she so perfect? _

 

Moore started the bike up. And then he saw her.

 

The resemblance was unmistakable.  _ Gwansun. _

 

\-----

 

Erikson walked through the open exit and was immediately blinded by the sun pouring into the small, sand-filled vestibule. With one hand on the metal ladder that led to the surface, Erikson paused, listening to the voices above.

 

“Hold until you have get clear visual on her! Shoot her first. Then open fire into the crowd.”

 

\-----

 

Moore sped off to the east, following in Celine’s wake. As they made their way along the switchbacks that led up the cliff, Moore could see the red lights of an ambulance flashing over the rocky edge.

 

Jules ran over with an emergency medical responder as soon as they made it to the top. One of the other responders continued to look out toward the desert through Jules’ binoculars, talking into his radio. “I can’t even- there’s literally  _ hundreds _ of people! They just keep coming, this is insane. We’re going to need helicopters.”

 

After the injured prisoners were helped off of her bike, Celine flung her arms around Jules. “We’ve missed you!”

 

“I missed you guys, too.”

 

“Have you heard from any of the media, yet?” Moore asked.

 

“Yes, some people are on their way to confirm before they put it all over the news,” Jules replied as Colleen Holt walked over.

 

“Mrs. Holt? I’m Wes Moore, I knew Matt back at the Garrison.” 

 

Colleen shook Moore’s hand. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. I’ve been waiting for this day for quite some time.”

 

“The Garrison is going to have to answer to everything. And we’re going to find your family.”

 

Colleen smiled. “I hope so.” She wrapped an arm around Jules and squeezed. “Thank you for sending this one to me as well.”

 

Moore smiled. “That was all Erikson.”

 

“Did you see him yet?” Jules asked.

 

“No, we left pretty quickly. We need to get back,” Moore responded. “Garrison’s on their way…”

 

“I see a few uniforms, looks like they’re already there,” the responder said after he finished his call. “We’ll have helicopters here as soon as we can.”

 

Moore looked down into the desert and spotted a few olive uniforms dotted in a cluster against the sand.  _ The northeast exit... I was wondering where all the officers were.  _ He reached for his binoculars and saw their bodies falling to the ground. A single prisoner among them was taking them down with effortless grace.  _ Wait…  _ “Is that Erikson?”

 

Jules snatched the binoculars from Moore. “No, that can’t be- Oh my god! Jesper?!”

 

\-----

 

A misfired shot rang out overhead and the entire mass of people looked around, ready to run, fight, or do whatever was necessary to protect their leader. Ignoring Woolf’s protests to think things through, Medina ran to his bike and Su leaped on behind, shuriken ready as they sped toward the small group of Garrison officers. Medina felt Su straighten her legs and steady her weight on the back of the bike. She deftly threw two stars at an officer while others collapsed around her victim. Medina couldn’t believe his eyes as the uniformed men fell.  _ Erikson? _   


 

\-----

 

Erikson silently launched himself up the ladder and thrust the end of the flashlight into the back of the head of the officer pointing a rifle toward Gwansun. Knowing he’d made an appropriately placed hit based on the sound of the gunshot, he threw an elbow into the temple of the officer approaching and then turned, hook kicking one guard’s head into another.  _ Four down, seven to go. _ A guard suddenly fell at Erikson’s feet, with a star in his ribs and another lodged just above his clavicle.  _ Make that six.  _ Erikson glanced up to see two friendly faces before he placed a perfect roundhouse kick into another assailant, sending him ten feet back.

 

Medina gunned it toward the remaining guards, but before they could scatter, he and Su jumped off the bike. Su picked off two more guards with her shuriken while Medina used the momentum to simply plow into two more and clothesline another. “Yeah! How you like that shit?” Medina gloated in one of the officers faces before turning to Erikson. “Holy shit, dude! Like- seriously where the hell did you learn to do that?! Don’t tell me it was prison, you didn’t become the mother fuckin’ Karate Kid in less than three months.”

 

Erikson simply smiled. “I had some training. Is Gwansun safe?”

 

“Yeah. She’s with Woolf who’s been trying to convince her to get out of here, but she’s insisting on making sure everyone gets out. She kinda scares me. I’m actually afraid for Shiro if Keith grows up to be anything like her,” Medina joked, pulling the hoverbike upright. “Hop on! The shift change is on their way!”

 

“New bike?”

 

“Yeah, we have Shiro’s bike ready for you so we can get the hell out of here.”

 

“Yellow, huh?”

 

“Oh fuck off! I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

“It’s a nice color for you,” Erikson teased.

 

“I was happy to see you. But now I’m gonna make your ass walk back to the group.”

 

“I’m fine anyway! I’ll see you there” Erikson called as he began sprinting toward Gwansun and the rest of the prisoners as if the sand didn’t phase him.

 

Medina was still surprised at his friend’s transformation. “Were you guys putting steroids in the med supply? Like, what shit is he on right now?”

 

Su grinned. “I think Gwansun got a hold of him.” She then nodded toward the pile of guards, groaning in pain. “Should we tie these assholes together and redistribute their weapons?”

 

“Good idea.” Medina looked over at the looming reminder of the Garrison’s impending arrival. “I have a feeling we’re not going to be able to outrun the reinforcements.”

 

\-----

 

As suspected, the first group of Garrison vehicles to arrive were the guards for shift change. Lourdes, Su, and Erikson easily dealt with the new arrivals and afterwards, Su rounded up the guards while the prisoners worked together to push the armored vehicles together to form a makeshift barricade next to a boulder.

 

“We need to get Gwansun out of here!” Erikson shouted as he ran behind the barrier.

 

Gwansun shook her head. “They already know we’re here. If we try to escape now, they’ll just follow us to wherever we go.”

 

“But that’ll at least split them up,” Woolf reasoned.

 

“I don’t want to take the chance. We stay and fight. We have the numbers.”

 

“And now we have more weapons. And more hostages as leverage,” Lourdes added.

 

_ Fighting… Firearms... _ Moore felt queasy. “Um. OK. That wasn’t really the plan, but…” Another dust cloud, much smaller and faster than the Garrison entourage, caught Moore’s eye as it approached from the southeast. It was a single jeep. “Oh, Christ. Are they breaking off and starting to surround us?”

 

Su finished distributing the guns she and Lourdes had confiscated and then pulled out her phone. “Forgot to tell you. Elise says that Lexi’s on his way.”

 

“I really hope that’s good news…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will be up in the next day or two.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting!


	19. The battle for our existence- Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown is just the beginning.

The team lined the bikes up with the barricade, keeping Shiro’s bike hidden behind the boulder so that Erikson and Gwansun could make a quick getaway if needed. Medina grabbed one of the communication radios Su had collected from the guards. “This is Lieutenant Medina. Come in, Galaxy Garrison.”

 

“Medina!” Iverson’s irritated voice growled over the comm. “This is a Zulu-niner. You don’t respond to this security situation code! What the hell are you doing there, Lieutenant?”

 

“Commander Iverson, sir. I… misheard. I thought it was a Zulu-four… sir!”

 

Iverson’s curses were garbled with the exception of an easily discernible “goddamn idiot.”

 

“If I may, sir,” Medina interrupted, curling his lip, blood close to boiling, “I believe we have a hostage situation here. Garrison officers, sir.”

 

A different voice came over the comms. It was Adisa’s. “I don’t give a damn about the hostages. They’re worthless for getting captured. Gwansun Lee is top priority. She cannot be allowed to leave the area.” Medina watched the guards’ eyes widen with fear at the blatant dismissal of their safety and survival.

 

“Uh, roger that, sir. It’s hard to get a visual on her, but I’ll keep trying,” Medina responded as the sound of Rivali’s jeep grew louder.

 

“So much for hostages,” Su commented, eyeing the guards and toying with her blade.

 

Knowing that the men were in a lose-lose situation, Gwansun crouched down beside the guards. “They clearly don’t give a damn about your lives. I will cut you loose and give you your freedom back if you will fight for ours.” The guards exchanged looks, but quickly came to an unspoken agreement and nodded. She then snatched a comm from the pile next to the guards. “Adisa! This is Gwansun. I will slit your throat myself if you come near my people!”

 

“Gwansun! Stand down!”

 

“You’re outnumbered, Adisa. I advise that _you_ stand down.”

 

Suddenly, Rivali came from behind the boulder, speaking into his radio comm. “Administrator, sir. This is Commander Rivali, I have this under control.”

 

Lourdes sprinted to Gwansun’s side, rage in her eyes. “You!!” she spat.

 

Moore panicked as Erikson ran over to protect Gwansun as well. _Oh, shit. I should’ve told them..._

 

The voice of General Molnár, Chief of Safety and Mission Assurance and head of Global Securities, responded. “Rivali! I have relieved you of your position. How can I believe you after your traitorous actions? You went behind my back and undermined the Kerberos investigation.”

 

“I was acting in the best interest of the Galaxy Garrison, sir. You can trust me. I’m trying to get a visual on Gwansun.” Rivali dropped the radio and held up both hands as he neared the group. “Lourdes, right?”

 

“I can’t wait to hear your skull crack underneath my boots,” Lourdes responded.

 

“I’m here to help. If we stall long enough, we’ll expose them and then you can get away.”

 

Erikson spoke up next. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

In all his rushing around, Moore had almost forgotten... He checked the time. “Twenty minutes,” he announced. “We need to hold them off for twenty minutes.”

 

“And then what?” Erikson asked.

 

“Adisa, Iverson, and Molnár are Galra clones. Moore wrote a virus. They’ll all fall to the ground at the same time,” Rivali explained.

 

“You’re working with him?!” Lourdes shouted at Moore.

 

“We had to,” Celine piped up in Moore’s defense. Woolf narrowed his eyes, standing protectively behind Celine.

 

“And you think that’s enough for us to get away?” Lourdes questioned Rivali.

 

“It’s the perfect distraction. ‘If we do not wish to fight, we can prevent the enemy from engaging us even though the lines of our encampment be merely traced out on the ground. All we need do is to throw something odd and unaccountable in his way…’” Rivali quoted.

 

Gwansun looked to Su. Su met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. “So, _former_ Commander, you’ve studied _The Art of War_?”

 

Rivali shrugged. “Yeah. Well… tried to. That line always stuck with me.”

 

Gwansun crossed her arms and paced thoughtfully. “You asked me a question about Adisa the last time we spoke. But you seem confident that you’ve found the answer.”

 

“Yes. Well, Moore and Elise did, but- Adisa’s a clone placed here as a Galra experiment.”

 

“Elise and I coded a narcoleptic-like tic to happen after the escape in case they were among the responders or if they were the ones on the news while this was happening,” Moore elaborated. “If we hold them off until 0800, the emergency medical response helicopters should be here by then.”

 

Gwansun cut the former Garrison officers loose with Su’s blade, and handed it back. “You fight for our freedom in exchange,” she reminded them before addressing Rivali. “The depths to which Zarkon has sunk continue to astound me. I’ll need more info on this ‘clone’ thing later but let’s use this to our advantage. The element of surprise is a strong asset to have on our side. I just don’t want any surprises from _you,_ Mr. Rivali. Lourdes will be keeping an eye on you to ensure that doesn't happen.”

 

Rivali pulled a sheathed knife from his belt and held it up. “I think this belongs to you,” he said, tossing the knife to Lourdes.

 

Surprised, Lourdes ran her fingers over the familiar purple emblem as the Garrison response team spoke over the loudspeakers mounted to their vehicles. “This is the Galaxy Garrison. Surrender Gwansun Lee and no one will be harmed.”

 

Gwansun turned and addressed the now free prisoners congregated behind her. “They’re lying. They can’t afford to have any of you speak to the public or the press. They won’t let anyone leave this desert unless they are in chains!”

 

“I repeat, surrender Gwansun and you will not be harmed.” The doors to the armored vehicles could be heard opening, officers cocking rifles, awaiting orders.

 

The team crouched behind the barricade to strategize. “Every person that’s been given a gun should line up here. Anyone unarmed will line up behind them. Gwansun, just stay out of sight and-” Woolf started.

 

“I’m fighting,” Gwansun interrupted.

 

“That sounds… dangerous,” Woolf argued.

 

“What if I pretend to surrender but only if I speak with Adisa alone, it’ll buy us time. The rest of you and the refugees can start to surround the vehicles,” Gwansun countered. “How many people are we dealing with?”

 

“All Z-code response teams are comprised of forty-five people,” Rivali answered as Medina peered through the barricade, taking inventory of the officers he saw.

 

“Oh, man. Professor Montgomery's even here. I wonder if she remembers me,” Medina said.

 

Erikson snickered. “How could she forget her most obnoxious student? She had to’ve given you at least ten detentions for talking.”

 

“Sounds about right,” Rivali commented.

 

“I see Mr. Harris, too. He just had a knee replacement, though, so go easy on him. And Iverson’s mine for calling me an idiot!” Medina added.

 

“But don’t take him down! We need everyone to see him drop at the same time as the other two,” Moore cautiously reminded.

 

“This is a final warning. Surrender Gwansun and we will not open fire!”

 

“Is that Hughes?” Erikson growled at the familiar voice over the loudspeaker.

 

“Fucking prick,” Rivali spat. “If I see him, I’ll send him your way.”

 

Erikson grinned. “I think I’d like that.”

 

Celine took off her backpack and pulled out a wrench, ready to join the fight. “Celine, please stay back here. Mechanics don’t get the combat training that we do,” Woolf pleaded.

 

“I can’t let you guys have all the fun. I’ll be careful.”

 

Rivali snatched the wrench out of her hand. “Like hell you are. You’re staying here.”

 

“Yeah, I think that’s best,” Erikson agreed.

 

“What?! You can’t all gang up on me like this!”

 

Moore attempted to placate Celine. “You keep the time for us, OK? We need a countdown until 0800.”

 

“That’s the lamest job ever!”

 

Rivali snorted. “Go stomp off and tell me you hate me. My daughter seems to think that works.” He then looked to Woolf. “You still my sharp shooter?”

 

“Uh, I... was. I haven’t practiced in a while,” Woolf responded.

 

“Hey, I thought I was the sharp shooter of the group!” Medina argued.

 

“Woolf, there’s a sniper rifle in the jeep. We’re going to need you up on that boulder,” Rivali ordered. “Medina, you’re coming with me. We’re the only officers that they know are here.”

 

“Get a bullet-proof vest for Gwansun,” Erikson called as Woolf ran past. He then turned and addressed the group. “OK, we’re going to surround the vehicles, grab a weapon from Rivali’s jeep on your way only if you think you can use it. If you’re not comfortable firing a gun, then use the gunstock as a blunt-force weapon. We don’t need stray bullets flying everywhere.”

 

Rivali nodded. “I’ll lead Gwansun out to speak with Adisa. Medina, you take Lourdes and Su, pretending you’ve captured them but keep them near Gwansun so that they can respond if needed. The second anyone hears a shot fired from the Garrison, move in and attack. Celine, what’s our time?”

 

“0750,” Celine grumbled bitterly.

 

“A little louder please.”

 

“0750!!” Celine shouted at Rivali.

 

“That’s better.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“That’s fine."

 

“I’ll sneak in from the back and keep an eye on the officers with guns,” Erikson offered. “We just need to hold them off for ten minutes. Hopefully most of that time will be talking.”

“What should I do?” Moore asked.

 

Rivali handed over Celine’s wrench. “Think you can wreak havoc on their vehicles so they can’t follow when you guys make your getaway?”

 

Moore was relieved. “Oh. Yeah, I can do that.”

 

Woolf returned from the vehicle with the necessary supplies and Gwansun threw the vest on over her prison garb. A camp prisoner offered one of their layers for her to conceal the vest as Hughes’ voice came over the loudspeakers. “On my signal… Ready...”

 

Rivali fired his gun into the air and then rounded the barricade with Gwansun. “Hold! Visual on Gwansun!” Hughes shouted.

 

“I have Gwansun but she’s demanding to speak with Adisa before she surrenders,” Rivali announced. Medina followed with Lourdes and Su. The two girls tried to remain on either side of Gwansun, holding up their blades to display the only weapons remaining in their possession.

 

“Adisa!” Gwaunsun shouted, pretending to struggle in Rivali’s grasp while the mass of refugees began circling the Garrison’s vehicles. “At my command they will attack. I suggest you spare the lives of your own men and face me like the leader you claim to be.”

 

At the challenge, Adisa emerged, confidently straightening the collar of his Garrison uniform. He looked up in the sky; the emergency medical response helicopters could be heard off in the distance. “What is all this?”

 

“It’s over, Adisa. You’re grossly outnumbered. If I don’t survive today, my people will avenge me. And the American public will watch.”

 

Adisa sneered as he walked up, flanked by four officers, rifles drawn and aimed at Gwansun. “The American public will not stand for aliens living among them. They’re a xenophobic bunch. You will be killed and your people will be wiped out. I should have never been as generous as I was.”

 

“Generous? Do you all hear that?!” Gwansun called out to the crowd. “He thinks he’s been generous! Maybe we should _thank_ him.”

 

“Is that a threat?” one of the officers in Adisa’s company shouted.

 

General Molnár got out of one of the vehicles and approached, both hands in the air, with Sergeant Hughes in tow. “Rivali, let Hughes handle this. Stand down.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“You will be dishonorably discharged the second I can sign the paperwork! Consider this advance notice!”

 

“Noted. But I’ll keep doing my job ‘til I sign that paperwork, sir.”

 

With all eyes on Adisa’s and Gwansun’s standoff, Moore and Erikson moved along the wall of camp prisoners and snuck in behind the team of Garrison officers. Moore slipped underneath the first vehicle and went to work while Erikson stood watch, looking for any inkling of a trigger-happy officer.

 

Baking in the intense rising sun, Woolf drew in long, steady breaths, scanning the Garrison ranks from his perch as the rescue helicopters drew near.

 

“0755,” Celine announced.

 

“Drop your weapons and I will speak with your leader,” Adisa announced to the mass of ex-prisoners.

 

“Drop _your_ weapons and I will consider negotiating with you,” Gwansun countered as she and her protectors slowly advanced toward Adisa.

 

“Don’t come any closer!” Hughes shouted, dropping his radio to the ground and lowering his hand toward his gun holster.

 

Gwansun laughed as she took another step toward Adisa. “No sudden movements, Hughes,” she warned. “You’re not going to be a hero today. By the way, how’s your Oedipus complex treating you?”

 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Hughes squawked, hand twitching near his gun.

 

“I remember our chat quite clearly, Hughes,” Gwansun taunted. “You're a psychiatrist's wet dream.”

 

Medina watched Lourdes’ grip tighten on the hilt of her blade as Hughes’ pride overcame him and he reached for his gun. Lourdes and Su traded looks, broke away from Medina, and in a purple flash of light, their blades more than doubled in size simultaneously. They took stances on either side of Gwansun, preparing to defend her as everyone looked on in shock.

 

Startled, Hughes fumbled his gun and dropped it in the sand.

 

Medina stared open-mouthed, shifting his aim to point at Hughes. “Uh… Am I the only one that didn’t know they did that? The knife… sword... thing?” he whispered to Rivali.

 

“Honestly, I’m not surprised by anything these days,” Rivali commented as a battle erupted. He took a shot to disable the officer to Adisa’s left and then dove off into the chaos while the prisoners overtook the vehicles.

 

Blinded by rage and a bruised ego, Hughes picked up his firearm and rushed at Gwansun. One masterful swing of Su’s gleaming blade sliced the barrel off of his gun and skimmed a layer of skin off of his knuckles. He shrieked and backed into Rivali who whirled around and grabbed him in a sleeper hold. “Where ya going, Hughes? She just wants to finish the job. Actually... I know someone who wants to hurt you even more.” Rivali released his hold and shoved him toward Erikson.

 

Hughes fell to the ground and Erikson pulled him up by his collar.

 

“Hi!” Erikson gave him a maniacal smile as Hughes attempted to throw a punch. Erikson grabbed his fist and pushed him away to allow for just enough room to raise his leg in an axe kick, dropping it down into Hughes’ collarbone. He then quickly lowered his leg to deliver another blow, dislocating Hughes’ knee. Erikson dropped into a crowch as Hughes crumpled to the ground in excruciating pain. “How are you going to explain this to your friends?” Erikson laughed. “You got taken down in less than a minute by an ace girl and a fag.”

 

Hughes growled and tried to push himself up to swing at Erikson.

 

Erikson rose to his feet and took one step back. “If you can stand, I’ll let you take one hit. Just know that if you do, your ego might survive, but your torn ACL won’t and you’ll need surgery before you can walk again.”

 

Hughes gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up. Putting all of his weight onto his uninjured leg, he threw a fist at Erikson’s jaw. Erikson took one step to the side and the unstable momentum made Hughes catch himself with his injured leg. He cried out and fell to the sand again.

 

“Pride’s a bitch,” Erikson said and then took off to incapacitate his next victim.

 

“0758!” Celine called out as the helicopters hovered directly overhead.

 

Lourdes leaped into the air and drove her blade into yet another attacker while Su stuck to her leader’s side, watching with fierce concentration and deflecting any bullets that came their way. Gwansun looked around for Adisa who had stolen away the second the fight had broken out. “Adisa!” With all of the commotion, there was no way that three people slumping to the ground would catch anyone’s attention, but Gwansun had to refrain from using her powers to stop the fighting. It would just make the clones look as if she were manipulating them.

With less than two minutes left, Erikson grabbed Molnár from behind and wrestled him to where Gwansun stood as she shouted for the Garrison administrator.

 

Rivali and Medina surrounded Iverson, also trying to force him toward Gwansun, guns pointed at his head. “You turncoat!” Iverson spat at Rivali.

 

“No insults for my friend here? Oh, I guess you already called him a goddamn idiot.”

 

“Uh, hang on there,” Medina interrupted. “We’re not friends. We’re merely collaborating for a common goal. Not friends.”

 

“I don’t think Iverson cares about the intricacies of our relationship, right now. I know we’re not friends.”

 

“Definitely not friends. I mean… I do hate you a little less right now,” Medina reluctantly admitted.

 

“Yeah... I guess the feeling’s mutual.”

 

Su rolled her eyes as the guys neared. “Stop bro-ing out. You two can hug later.”

 

“No, no, no. We are not bro-ing out,” Medina clarified.

 

“Yeah, we don’t _bro_ out,” Rivali agreed.

 

“0759!” Celine shouted from behind the barricade.

 

“Hold! Stop!” Gwansun shouted to her people. A few paused but most didn’t hear amidst the turmoil. “Adisa, I surrender!”

 

The fighting came to a standstill and Adisa stepped out of the back of one of the vehicles.

 

“But you have to let everyone else go,” Gwansun added.

 

“That is not up for negotiation. Your people still possess these strange powers and weapons that could be used against us. This is precisely why aliens cannot live among us. You speak of your people! But what about mine?! I should just stand by while you integrate with the masses and infect us with your genetics?! While you breed freaks and train them to use these powers maliciously?” Adisa snarled, pointing at Su.

 

“Why can’t you accept that our lineage from such an advanced civilization makes us more in tune with the intricacies and energies of our surroundings?” Gwansun answered.

 

“We can never be safe while you are among us!” Adisa shouted.

 

“This is for your good as well,” Molnár argued. “I’m sure down the road, we can come to an agreement to help your people integrate safely and peacefully.”

 

“We had integrated peacefully!” Lourdes shouted, pointing her blade at Molnár. “You’re the ones who hunt us and rip our families apart!”

 

“Five!”

 

“I surrender,” Gwansun repeated. “I’m sure we can work out an agreement.”

 

“Four!”

 

“Is there a bomb?!” Iverson yelled, looking around in panic. “What’s the countdown for?!”

 

“Three!”

 

“No, there’s no bomb,” Gwansun assured him.

 

“Two!”

 

“I don’t want any more blood spilled today.” Gwansun offered her hands out to Adisa. “Take me as your prisoner and they will withdraw peacefully.”

 

“One!”

 

Adisa reached for her wrist and then his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He collapsed to the ground, Iverson and Molnár falling alongside him.

 

The remaining Garrison officers rushed over in a panic as the team quickly broke away. Moore was the last to follow. “They’re going to need a neuro exam! And I suggest an MRI!” he called as he rushed past.

 

Woolf slid down the boulder and began helping Celine to ready the hoverbikes. “Where are we going?” Erikson asked after the team had all reunited behind the massive rock.

 

“East of the camps, up on that cliff. Colleen Holt and Jules are coordinating the rescue effort for the rest of the people from the camps,” Moore said.

 

Coupled with his surging adrenaline, the thought of seeing Jules made Erikson’s heart feel as if it would explode. He started Shiro’s bike and waited for Gwansun, but she froze and clutched at her head before she could get on. “Gwansun? Is this another vision? Do we need to go to the teleport hub?”

 

Gwansun shook her head and steadied her breath. “No, I’ll be fine. I want to make sure that everyone will be safe with the media there.”

 

“Jules can handle it.”

 

“No. I should be there. Let’s go.”

 

\-----

 

Erikson watched as the helicopters descended into the valley again for the next round of refugees. The overlook was teeming with reporters while emergency medical responders treated injuries and disaster relief teams began organizing temporary shelter until people could reconnect with their families. Colleen Holt waved to Erikson from afar as she offered her phone to a former prisoner so that he could speak with his children.

 

Overwhelmed and amazed by all his friends had accomplished, he hardly noticed when Celine nudged him and said, “Go.”

 

But then he looked over and saw Jules.

 

He sprinted through the crowd and Jules threw his arms around his neck as they collided. “Thank god you’re safe!”

 

Erikson couldn’t speak at first. He just held his boyfriend tightly and never wanted to let go, the touch of his skin and the smell of his hair briefly transporting him to the lazy summer afternoons they spent lying in bed. He pulled away to look Jules in the face to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and then kissed him, showing him what he couldn’t quite put into words.

 

“Next time, I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer,” Erikson whispered, resting his forehead on Jules’.

 

Jules chuckled, fingers playing with the shaggy hair at the nape of Erikson’s neck. “Next time, I won’t say no.”

 

“I’m also never letting you out of my sight again.”

 

“Well, that might be a little difficult. But I’d love to see you try.” Jules sniffled and then yanked Erikson into another kiss. “I might have thrown away all of your polo shirts in a fit of anger,” Jules admitted.

 

Erikson just chuckled. “You probably did me a favor.”

 

“And those stupid seersucker shorts…”

 

“Do I have _any_ clothes left?”

 

“Um… I’ll get back to you on that.”

 

Erikson laughed again and kissed Jules on the forehead. “God, I missed you.”

 

Debris from the explosions still floated in the wind and occasionally drifted up over the cliff’s edge. Rivali knelt down and picked up the remains of one of Moore’s sugar packets and inspected it. “You got explosives into the camps?”

 

Moore grinned. “Yeah…”

 

“What does FTG stand for?”

 

“Oh… it’s just- I don’t know. Silly name I came up with for our group.”

 

“Team Fuck the Garrison!” Celine cheered behind them.

 

Rivali snorted. “Ah. I thought you guys were more like Team Disgruntled Employees.”

 

Celine laughed and elbowed Woolf in the ribs. “Team Unemployment!”

 

“I’m definitely joining Team Unemployment in the very near future,” Rivali said, smiling. “Well, if you guys don’t need my help, I’m going to head back and check on Harper.”

 

Su suddenly spoke up from behind him. “You’re getting Elise.”

 

Rivali startled. “What the fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that. You guys are like cats!”

 

“Get Elise,” Su repeated.

 

“What’s wrong? She’s feeling left out?”

 

Su shook her head and pointed to Gwansun who was kneeling on the ground shaking.

 

“Is she OK?” Moore shouted, running over with the rest of the group.

 

Lourdes was kneeling next to Gwansun and trying to reason with her. “You don’t have the energy for this right now!”

 

“We need Elise,” Gwansun whispered. “He’s going to kill them.”

 

“Adisa?” Moore asked.

 

“Zarkon.”

 

“Who is he going to kill?”

 

“Voltron. He’s drawn all of the quintessence out of them!”

 

“Um…” Moore scratched his head. “Like… right now? That just happened?”

 

“He’s targeting the black paladin. I have to help him!”

 

“Gwansun, I think you need to rest!” Lourdes said.

 

“No. We have to go to the teleport hub. Now!!! Elise knows the code. Get her.”

 

“Did… did she say... _teleport_ hub?” Rivali stammered.

 

Su turned to Rivali. “The shack. I’ll let Elise know you’re on your way.”

 

Rivali ran toward his jeep and then turned around. “Who’s the black paladin?”

 

“Takashi Shirogane,” Gwansun replied as Erikson helped her stand. “Hurry.”

 

Erikson looked at Jules with pain in his eyes. “I have to go.”

 

“Be safe. Keep me posted.”

 

Colleen Holt approached the group and embraced Jules. “I’ve got this. Go.”

 

“Are you sure?” Jules asked her.

 

“Positive. Go with him.”

 

\-----

 

Elise crouched in front of the cellar door behind the shack, trying a fourth passcode. Rivali held her deceivingly heavy handbag and Moore held her wide-brimmed sun hat that was almost as big as he was.

 

“What the fuck is in this bag?” Rivali complained.

 

Elise shushed him as the the cellar door lock responded with a beep and blinked red. “Ugh! Not again!”

 

Su and Lourdes held Gwansun up as she trembled from her visions. “He’s ripping them apart!”

 

“OK! OK! I’m trying! Just give me time to think!” Elise argued.

 

“At least this one won’t blow us up,” Rivali said under his breath to Moore.

 

“Shut up, Lexi!”

 

Elise tried for a fifth time and the door responded with a more pleasant-sounding tone. Erikson and Medina lifted the doors open, exposing a narrow stairway that led underneath the shack.

 

“Get everything powered on!” Gwansun ordered as they filed down the stairs.

 

Elise, Lourdes, and Su raced around, powering on the towers of strange equipment, the room gradually coming to life with an ultraviolet glow.

 

“Fucking purple. I’m tired of this goddamn color,” Rivali griped.

 

“It’s better than yellow,” Medina commented.

 

Celine smacked Medina on the arm. “Stop bitching about your color. And Su was right, you two _are_ bro-ing out.”

 

“Stop saying that!”

 

Celine raised an eyebrow expressing her skepticism.

 

“You’re bonding over colors,” Woolf pointed out.

 

“We are merely voicing… concerns regarding specific colors... for which we’ve developed negative associations. That doesn’t constitute _bro-ing out,_ ” Rivali argued.

 

“Whatever. You guys are bros for life,” Celine teased.

 

“OK, you know what? You need to mind your own business,” Medina said, pointing at Celine. “And you need to go stand on the other side of the room.” Medina pushed Rivali away.

 

Once the machines were powered on, Gwansun took a seat in the corner, at the head of a narrow rectangular metal platform, and between two large glass cylinders that extended from floor to ceiling. She closed her eyes and placed her hands on the platform. The electric purple from the towers branched across the floor like lightning, collected in the poles, and transferred to a concentrated light radiating from her hands. “I need everyone to be quiet.”

 

The group waited in silence while Gwansun meditated and acted as a conductor for the quintessence that surged through the room. Occasionally she gritted her teeth as if fighting for something.

 

For some _one_.

 

Her whispers echoed in the metal room. “Use the bayard.”

 

“Can we help her?” Erikson asked Elise.

 

“No. Only one person can act as the Receiver. Other people would just interfere with the conduction and scatter the energy of the one being teleported,” Elise explained.

 

“She’s exhausted, though,” Lourdes said.

 

The purple light began to flicker and the energy in the room felt as if it was becoming denser, like gravity was intensifying and pulling the entire room down into the Earth.

 

“Use the bayard,” Gwansun repeated.

 

The metal structure creaked as the earth beneath shuddered. The purple light intensified into a white hot, blinding energy and the ground trembled again.

 

Suddenly other voices were heard shouting in the room, distorted by what sounded like static over an intercom. Celine could’ve sworn she heard Keith and Hunk among the shouting voices.

 

And then the room went completely dark. Only Gwansun’s heaving breaths could be heard.

 

Then, the purple light returned as a faint glimmer above the entire length of the metal platform and began to take shape.

 

Erikson’s mouth fell open as the shape became more and more human. “Shiro,” he breathed.

 

White armor materialized around Shiro’s supine body and the purple light stopped shimmering once his form had solidified. “Breathe,” Gwansun commanded.

 

When nothing happened, she pulled off his helmet. Concentrating energy through her palms, she clenched her eyes shut again and held her hands over his temples. “Breathe, Takashi.”

 

Erikson couldn’t help but hold his own breath while waiting for Shiro’s motionless chest to rise.

 

“Please…” Gwansun pleaded.

 

Jules squeezed Erikson’s hand, trying to offer his support. Love. Reassurance. The simple gesture grounded him. And then gave him an idea. He hesitantly approached on Gwansun’s left. “I don’t know much about Galra physiology or anything, but sometimes human touch helps… Like in the hospital… it works.”

 

Gwansun opened her eyes and slid her gaze over to Erikson. She then looked to Elise who just shrugged. “Not something I ever learned from my training. But everything is based on what’s been passed down from the original Garla refugees and the updates we receive from the Blade of Marmora. And the protocol we use is meant to teleport Galra energy. Humans are probably a little different.”

 

“OK,” Gwansun conceded. “It’s worth a shot, I guess. It just feels as if he’s… lost. Or trapped.”

 

Erikson knelt beside the platform, pulled off Shiro’s left glove, and held his human hand. “Shiro? It’s Erikson. Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

 

Shiro’s thumb twitched, but his chest remained still and lifeless.

 

“Shiro, squeeze my hand if you can hear me. You need to breathe.”

 

Shiro’s hand slowly wrapped around Erikson’s. “You can hear me?” His hand squeezed again.

 

“Please, Shiro. You have to try to breathe.”

 

Suddenly Shiro writhed and gasped for air. His right hand shot up and reached for Gwansun’s head above him. “Keith?” he rasped when he opened his eyes.

 

“Takashi! You’re safe, just stay with me,” Gwansun encouraged.

 

Shiro’s head fell back onto the metal with a loud thud, arm falling at his side.

 

“No! Come back to me! Takashi!”

 

Weakly, Shiro opened his eyes again. “Romelle?” he murmured.

 

“Who’s Romelle?” Gwansun asked.

 

“She’s here. With me,” he mumbled before falling limp again, hand slipping out of Erikson’s.

 

“Please come back, Takashi. Don’t go to Romelle, come back to me.”

 

Shiro didn’t respond but his chest rose and fell with his shallow breaths.

 

Gwansun pounded her fists on either side of Shiro’s head. “No!”

 

“He’s here, right? Maybe he needs to sleep it off,” Erikson offered.

 

Gwansun shook her head, emotion contorting her face. “He’s not here,” she murmured, smoothing the white forelock away from Shiro’s forehead.

 

Lourdes ran to Gwansun’s side. “You need to rest.”

 

“I have get him back.”

 

“You can’t do anything if you don’t have any energy left,” Lourdes argued.

 

“What do you mean he’s not _here_ ,” Moore questioned.

 

“His consciousness is trapped. He only has simple brainstem reflexes right now. Rivali, do you think you can get a medtech in here? He’s going to need an IV. He’s dehydrated.”

 

Clearly shaken by the event that had just unfolded before his eyes, Rivali was slow to respond. “Uh… medtech? Yeah. I’ll um. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“This could take a while, we’ll need a lot of fluid.”

 

“OK. I’ll call Harper and see who we can gather. Do we need to bring him to the hospital?”

 

“No, not yet. I want to try this on our own first. He’ll be fine for a few days with just IV fluid.” Gwansun then rose from her seat. “Elise, Lourdes, Su, and Jepser, make sure you eat and rest up. We’ll meet back down here in three hours. I’m going to need you.”

 

“What are we going to do?” Erikson asked.

 

“We’re going in for him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Well, not quite. The next part (Part 5) will be a direct continuation from this scene but I wanted to end Aftermath here since this is sort of where Impermanence/Part 4 ends. 
> 
> And just so everyone's aware, it took a lot of self-restraint to not title this chapter “Team Disgruntled Employees.” I’m a huge nerd and that line makes me giggle.
> 
> Thank you all for taking the leap to read this fic and thank you all for your kudos. The readers who have commented have really driven me to keep writing. There were seriously several occasions where I was like,should I still be writing this thing? So, huge thank you to those of you who make my day, week, month, life with your wonderful, entertaining, and encouraging comments. Feedback/discussion is welcome either as comments or come bug me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/latart). I know there's some parts where I've stretched what really would've happened, but sometimes reality just isn't as fun to write. But I'm happy to debate, answer questions, etc,.
> 
> Thanks to [avidbeader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader) for helping with the holes in my plot and constantly offering invaluable feedback and encouragement. And for continuing to put up with my poor English skills. One would think that I would've mastered the grammar and punctuation of my native language by now, lmao.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who read this!!! Keep an eye out for part 5 to follow. I will try to wrap this up as best I can without diving into another nineteen-chapter monster. *fingers crossed*  
> @RainbowShark's comment got me thinking... so here's a bonus chapter I threw onto Part 3: [Nineteen pleather harnesses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830726/chapters/35856237)


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